What Is Supposed to Be
by bingblot
Summary: "Because he's supposed to be..." In love with her. Wait, had she said that out loud? An AU fix-it for 4x5 "Eye of the Beholder."
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: As always, all things "Castle" belong to Andrew Marlowe and ABC.

Author's Note: I admit that "Eye of the Beholder" has never been an episode I liked much so I decided to fix it. Also written as an experiment of sorts in which I started out with no plan but just decided to change one line in the episode and see what happened from there.

 **What Is Supposed to Be**

 _Chapter 1_

Today was not going to be a good day.

Kate already knew that and it wasn't even 8 a.m. yet.

She hadn't slept well, she had the beginnings of a tension headache building behind her eyes, and she'd slightly burned her fingers this morning by splashing her scalding hot coffee on them in her rush to leave her apartment.

Plus, she had an early morning meeting with Dr. Burke, which was never her favorite way to start a day.

Oh and as the extra cherry on top, she had to look forward to an entire day of dealing with Serena Kaye. Of watching Castle swoon over Serena.

Kate took another drink of her coffee but then grimaced. The coffee she made for herself some mornings when she didn't want to wait until she got into the precinct never tasted as good and today's, in particular, tasted bitter.

It wasn't the coffee's fault, a voice in her mind asserted, and she scowled. Okay, so it might not be the coffee's fault but it was the easier scapegoat.

"Kate? Good morning. Come on in."

Kate followed Dr. Burke into his office, setting her coffee down on the side table, but didn't bother to sit down. She normally never stayed seated during these sessions, always paced, and today of all days she didn't feel up to acting calm.

Burke's office was 12 steps wide. She'd measured it out in her fidgety perambulations in past sessions, eight steps to get from the door to her usual chair, an additional four from her chair to the window.

Three steps from her chair to the bookcases that lined the back wall. A wall made up of bookshelves that always reminded her of Castle's office in the loft. Today it tugged at her heart and she abruptly pivoted away from the bookshelves, back to her chair and then to the window.

"So, Kate, what's on your mind this morning?"

"Serena Kaye," she blurted out without thought, almost spitting out the woman's name. And then inwardly winced. If the goal was to sound like a normal, rational adult, she was already failing. Ugh.

But as always, Dr. Burke didn't react by so much as a flicker of an eyelash. "And who is Serena Kaye?"

Kate released a frustrated sound. "Oh, she's an insurance investigator who forced her way into working on my current case."

"Mm, I see. I take it, you are not pleased to be working with her?"

She threw him a narrow-eyed look. Had she sounded pleased? "No, definitely not."

"And why is that?"

 _She was too… blonde. And too hot._

The words popped into Kate's mind, ridiculously, and she shoved them away. It had nothing to do with Serena's looks, or even Castle's reaction to her looks; it was her smugness, her reluctance to share information, to follow Kate's lead when this was _her_ case, damn it, and she was the lead detective on it.

"She's an uncooperative, cocky, stubborn know-it-all," Kate bit out.

"But she is good at her job?"

"Yeah, well, Castle seems to think so," Kate blurted out bitterly. Hanging on every word out of Serena's mouth, eagerly tagging along where Serena went. Following Serena with his eyes.

"And that bothers you?"

What the hell was Dr. Burke's problem with asking obvious questions today? Castle was her partner, supposed to be on her team. He wasn't supposed to be mooning around after some interloper insurance investigator, going after the shiny new distraction rather than doing the real, nitty gritty police work. "Yes, of course it bothers me."

It was about her work, she told herself. Castle was her partner, supposed to be working with _her_ , not being distracted by some busty blonde they'd never set eyes on before yesterday.

"Why?"

"Because he's supposed to be…" _In love with me._

Kate dropped heavily down onto her chair like a puppet who'd had its strings cut as the words rang through her mind, all her protests, her attempt to focus on the work aspect of it stripped away by the inadvertent truth, at least to herself.

He was supposed to be in love with her—but maybe… he really wasn't. Maybe he'd only said the words because he thought she was dying… maybe he'd gotten over it, gotten over her, in the long months of silence this summer.

She'd really thought, believed, that he'd meant it but maybe… she'd been wrong. Just like she had been before, when he'd asked her to go to the Hamptons and then replaced her with Gina.

But the way he looked at her, the way he smiled at her, no, she had to believe he still loved her. (And she tried not to think that some part of that might be because she didn't want to face what it would do to her if he didn't.)

Dr. Burke shifted in his chair, sat forward, his fingers steepled as he rested his elbows on his knees. "Ah. I see."

He did? Wait. Shit, had she said that out loud? She hadn't, she couldn't have—oh shit, she _had_.

Oh shit.

Today was really not her day.

She hadn't meant to say that, hadn't meant to say that word again in connection to Castle for… oh, ever. Not to Burke. If—when—she next said that word again in the same sentence as Castle she wanted it to be preceded by the word 'I' and followed by the word 'you,' and addressed exclusively to him, when her wall was down, when she could finally be ready to dive into it with him and tell him everything.

Not now. Not yet.

She didn't want to talk about this.

 _Yeah, that was going to work_ , an inner voice commented sarcastically. Just throw something like that out there and expect Burke not to comment on it. And she and Serena Kaye were going to become bestest friends.

Kate took an overly large gulp of her coffee and then coughed, trying to buy time. She felt Dr. Burke studying her but steadfastly avoided looking at him, focusing on the carpet in the office instead with as much concentration as if she could decipher the secrets of the universe in its bland pattern.

"You said that Castle told you that he loved you."

Kate shut her eyes, one hand automatically fluttering up to press against her chest, cover up the scar. "Yes," she managed to choke, the word barely above a whisper.

There was a brief tortuous silence and then he went on, again with his usual, absolutely measured tone, "You have not talked about it since."

She wasn't sure if he meant that she and Castle hadn't talked about it or that she hadn't talked about it with Burke—but then again, what difference did it make since both were true?

 _We kiss and we never talk about it. We nearly die frozen in each other's arms and we never talk about it._

She inwardly flinched, again, at the memory of Castle's accusing words from that terrible night in her apartment.

And they still weren't talking about it. Anything to do with their relationship, not really.

As if… nothing had changed. Nothing had happened.

As if… what he'd said hadn't been… _everything_. As if _he_ wasn't everything.

"Why is that?"

"Because… it's complicated," she finally answered lamely.

"Why is it complicated?"

"You know why it's complicated," she retorted. It was a cop-out, she knew that, barely above 'I know you are, but what am I' in terms of repartee but it was all she had at the moment, so there.

Dr. Burke, demonstrating again that he might not be fully human, didn't react to this display of petulant evasion, only responded patiently, "Explain it to me again."

She lifted her coffee cup to her lips again in a transparent attempt to stall but for once, barely tasted the liquid. And then she bounced to her feet, pacing again to the window and then around her chair to the bookshelves and back again. "I… had a boyfriend still," she began with what was easiest. She had still been with Josh at the time (although the way she'd dragged out her relationship with Josh at the time didn't paint her in the best light either. She ignored that commentary.) "And I wasn't ready to… deal with it. I needed more time."

"Mm." Kate had never realized that such a neutral sound of response could be so nerve-racking. But after a moment, Burke continued. "I gather from what you've said that you want Castle to be in love with you."

Kate bit back a snort. It was an odd thing to say but an even sillier sentiment. Was there a sane woman in the universe who wouldn't want someone like Castle to be in love with her? She couldn't imagine it. Castle had his flaws, his impulsiveness, his irritating man-child tendencies, but he was in basically every respect, the complete package: smart, kind, funny, generous, loyal, a devoted son and an adoring father. ( _And hot, don't forget hot_ , the baser part of her brain inserted.)

And more personally, of course she wanted Castle to love her. Castle's love was… the best thing that had ever happened to her, the greatest source of happiness in her life. His words had been the only bright spot in the midst of agony, had given her hope, something to hold on to. And even now, when she was cowering in her apartment, when she startled awake from a nightmare with a scream caught in her throat, she thought of him, imagined him, and that helped. (It was the only thing that helped, it seemed.)

"And you view this Serena Kaye as a threat because you return his feelings and are worried that he will move on."

Ouch, did he have to put it so bluntly?

Because of course Kate was afraid of that and she was jealous of Serena, jealous of the woman's confidence, jealous of the fact that she could flirt with Castle so openly without any of Kate's hangups and cowardice. Jealous when she really had no right to be. She wasn't Castle's girlfriend; she was just his partner at work, who couldn't get her act together, couldn't be honest with him, kept him waiting.

Jealous and… selfish too—she flinched at the harsh word—because she wasn't ready to give him what he deserved but she didn't want him to be with anyone else who could either. Too selfish to let him go.

"Kate, you say that you weren't ready at the time. What is it that's still holding you back?"

"I want… to be more, to be better." More than the broken person who cowered inside her apartment some nights at the sound of a siren. She wanted to be better, reasonably whole again. Better for him because he deserved it, deserved someone who could be honest with him.

"Kate, wanting to get better is commendable but it is not a necessary pre-condition to a relationship. There is no right order to these things, no rules to follow. If you honestly feel you cannot be in a relationship right now, that is entirely valid and it is up to you but you should not feel that it is somehow required of you to wait until you are completely cured or whatever personal goal you have set for yourself."

"It's not that." It wasn't, was it? "I just… he shouldn't have to deal with my issues. It's not fair to him."

A faint frown flickered across Burke's normally impassive expression. "I see. Has Castle ever said anything to make you believe he agrees with this?"

For the first time during the session, a faint smile flickered across her face, warmth glowing in her chest. "Of course not. He always says I'm extraordinary."

 _Except he didn't know how broken, how damaged she was._ Her smile faded, the warmth abruptly extinguished at the insidious voice of her own insecurities.

"Don't you think he means it?"

"He does but he doesn't know about… any of this," she waved a hand in a lame gesture to indicate the office as a symbol of all she was still trying to work through.

"Kate, the fact that you are still trying to overcome the trauma you've suffered, not just your shooting but starting with your mother's death, is not a reflection of your worth. It should not be something you judge yourself for nor is it something anyone else should judge you for. It is not a sign of weakness. We are all human and it is in the nature of humanity that we all need help sometimes. Do you fear that Castle will think less of you if he were to know that you are still trying to recover?"

She felt an irrational flicker of irritation in Castle's defense. "No, of course not. He would never."

Dr. Burke sat back in his chair. "I see. Now, our time for this appointment is up. Kate, it is not my place to tell you what to do or how to live your life but I want you to consider that in many ways, being able to be honest both with yourself and with the people who are important to you is part of the process of becoming better."

She hated the process. Hated the waiting. Hated the fear and her own stupid self for being so damaged, for not being able to just get over this.

"I will see you next week, Kate."

Kate managed not to grimace and forced a polite smile instead. "Yes, thank you. Have a nice rest of the day."

It was only at the end of sessions that Dr. Burke unbent enough to smile. "You too, Kate."

Again, Kate bit back a snort. Yeah, the chances of her actually having a good day were pretty much nil. Because now, after having her insides flayed raw, she got to go into the precinct and watch Castle fawn over Serena. Watch Serena flirt with Castle.

For a wild crazy second, Kate wondered if she could just call in sick or something before rationality reasserted itself. She was in the middle of a case and she never slacked off work like that.

And if that meant spending a day or two (or three—oh god, please let them solve this case before then), watching Castle and Serena flirt with each other, well, that was what she got for lying, for keeping him waiting.

 _~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: Apologies for the lack of Castle in this chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: I hope this chapter lives up to expectations…_

 **What Is Supposed To Be**

 _Chapter 2_

Kate had thought that the worst part of her day would be watching Castle and Serena flirt with each other. She'd been wrong.

No, at this point, she would almost welcome seeing Castle and Serena flirt with each other, crazy as it sounded, because this was worse. If they were here, she would at least _know_ where they were, what was or was not going on between them; not knowing but only being able to imagine the worst was worse.

Because neither Castle nor Serena had appeared in the precinct yet at all this morning.

And it was already later than Castle usually showed up. Not that he followed a set schedule, exactly; on days where they didn't have an active case, he often sauntered in not long before lunchtime only to confirm it was a paperwork day and then usually left again. (Since he retained his allergy to doing paperwork, although at least now he had a valid excuse in that Kate was relatively sure that Gates would reject any paperwork that Castle worked on.) But on days when they did have an active case, he usually showed up before 9, which as Kate knew from the week she'd stayed at the loft after her old apartment had blown up, gave Castle time to see Alexis off for school and then stop off to pick up their coffees before heading to the precinct.

Today, Castle was late. Very late even, as it was already nearing 10.

And Serena wasn't around either.

There was, she tried to tell herself, no reason to believe that wherever Castle (or Serena) were, they were together. They could both be busy with something else.

Her rational brain knew that but it wasn't quite so easy to silence the insidious little voice of her fear—her jealousy.

Because Serena hadn't been subtle about her interest in Castle and he'd equally obviously been… smitten by Serena.

And Castle usually sent her a message to tell her if he was going to be delayed on days when they were in the middle of a case. He hadn't today.

And Serena was also incommunicado. Which she wouldn't care about—it wasn't as if she'd ever wanted Serena around—if it weren't for Castle's absence.

They could both be doing something else. ( _Or doing each other?_ ) She inwardly flinched.

That was worse, this growing uneasy fear. That Castle and Serena were late because they were… together. Together and not-working.

Her unruly mind presented her with an all-too-vivid mental image of Castle and Serena kissing, Castle and Serena doing… other things.

Castle and Serena drinking coffee side by side in bed. Oddly, stupidly, that image hurt just as much as any others. Because coffee was _theirs_. And she had to admit that she'd fantasized at least a few times about just that, drinking her first coffee while in bed with Castle, exchanging kisses in between sips of coffee.

Her entire chest felt tight with longing and loss—because what if Castle and Serena were… together? What if she was too late? What if he'd already decided he didn't want to wait for her?

He had every right to move on; he hadn't made any promises to her. She was, still, just his partner.

But oh god, the thought of that hurt. She didn't want to be only his partner or even his friend. She wanted… him.

Did he know that?

For the first time, it occurred to her that their conversation at the swings after her return to the city had been... unspecific. She'd been… vague, shying away from what she really meant, that she wanted him to wait until she was ready to have a real relationship with him.

She had thought, assumed really, that they understood each other, their ability to communicate through subtext for once working for them, but now it occurred to her that it might not be true. That was the problem with subtext; it was too open to misinterpretation. And goodness knows she and Castle didn't have the best track record when it came to interpreting each other's words (or lack thereof).

Oh god, what if she'd already lost him?

She remembered what it had felt like watching Castle walk away from her with Gina and… she hadn't been in love with him then, not really.

What if she put in this time to try to get better, take down her wall, become stronger, the sort of person he deserved, only to find that it was for nothing, that he'd already moved on and she'd missed her chance?

It wasn't that she didn't want to get better for her own sake—of course she did—but the thought of him gave her a more specific hope, a goal, to work towards, to motivate her when it was hardest.

Ugh, she was at work, she reminded herself sternly. She couldn't just sit here and brood over Castle; she had a case. She closed up the file on the victim's background she'd been supposed to be reviewing again for anything that might leap out at her and pushed herself to her feet briskly as if she'd never thought about anything but work.

Only to stop abruptly, her composure faltering, as she saw him. Castle. He was here. Her heart leaped, a little spurt of relief and joy bubbling up inside her.

"Hey. Sorry to be late." Was it her imagination or was there something a little odd about his tone?

Her heart abruptly plummeted into the pit of her stomach, the sight of him for once feeling like a slap in the face. Or not the sight of him but the sight of his hands. His empty hands. He hadn't brought her coffee.

"Hey," she forced the greeting out, trying to sound casual. The lack of coffee didn't have to mean anything, right? She couldn't believe that. He always brought her coffee. _He wouldn't bring her coffee if he'd spent the night and the morning with another woman,_ a voice in her mind inserted. And she found herself blurting out, not quite evenly, "I figured that you were with Serena."

"No, she had a meeting with her bosses this morning."

He knew where Serena was.

Kate had a sudden mental image of Serena leaving Castle's bed, maybe pausing to give him a last kiss as she explained that she had to go to a meeting. Kate inwardly flinched, her imagination proving all too vivid (or maybe because it was too painfully easy to simply substitute Serena in the various fantasies Kate herself had already indulged in of some future time with Castle.) Because she had pictured this too, hadn't she, of leaving a drowsy (and adorably ruffled) Castle in bed for an early morning case or to go for a run or something, and leaning over to kiss him and having him try to persuade her to come back to bed…

"Oh, so you already saw her this morning." Her voice sounded brittle to her own ears.

"No, she texted me," he answered easily—and that didn't really help because why would Serena feel it necessary to keep him posted as to her schedule unless they were… something… Kate's stomach roiled so she thought she might actually be sick but she tried to look indifferent. No need to advertise how pathetic she was.

He paused, his expression changing. "Oh. You thought that we were…"

Oh, he'd noticed. Shit. She sternly got her voice and expression under control (or tried to). "Yeah, I mean it's pretty obvious that she really likes you so…"

"It is?"

She couldn't bring herself to look at him, too afraid that she would see his familiar cocky smirk. And if she did, she might do something utterly stupid like cry. She kept her eyes averted, studying the floor as if she expected it would dissolve beneath their feet if she took her eyes off it.

She couldn't seem to force actual words past the tightness in her throat, settled for a murmur. "Mm hmm."

"So then you think I should… pursue it?"

Why oh why was he asking her this? And how could she answer? Her heart had leaped into her throat, a flutter of panic, all her usual fears at being so vulnerable to him, rising up and she found herself saying, "Well, you know, suit yourself."

She finally managed to look at him to see him give a little nod, his shoulders lowering a little in acceptance—or was that defeat? He started to turn away and her heart abruptly started thrashing around in her chest as it occurred to her that she'd just missed her cue or something, that maybe he'd been seeking some sort of sign from her after their vague conversation at the swings. And instead she'd panicked, stumbled when she should have stepped forward.

Let him go when she should have held on.

She didn't want to lose him, didn't want him to walk away.

"No," she blurted out, the word escaping her without conscious direction from her brain.

He paused and then turned back, a slight frown creasing his brow. "No what, Beckett?"

She froze, pinned by his gaze. Her turn again but she found herself blanking on words, what she wanted, needed to say. She was never the one with the words and she hadn't exactly planned this either. "I… uh… didn't mean that," she finally managed lamely.

And it _was_ lame, so lame. And not exactly a model of clarity either. He blinked, his frown lingering. "I don't understand," he responded, drawing the words out slowly.

"I…"

Her faltering start was interrupted by the sound of a phone ringing, someone laughing from somewhere, and she belatedly remembered that they were standing in the middle of the bullpen, in full view of any number of her colleagues.

"We can't talk about this here. Come with me?" It came out sounding more uncertain than she would have liked but, well, she was uncertain when it came to this sort of thing. Her usual confidence didn't extend to her personal life and she didn't like the feeling of being at a disadvantage, unsure of herself. Didn't like being vulnerable. (This was why she didn't like to talk about personal things, tended to panic and hide... in nowhere relationships with men she didn't love. Castle had been right. It was easier, safer, that way. Kept her in control if she didn't care that much.)

Oh god, was she really about to do this, actually talk to Castle about their relationship?

But then her eyes fell to Castle's empty hands as she passed him to head to the back of the bullpen by the stairwell in a bid for some makeshift privacy—and oddly, the sight seemed to inject steel into her wavering courage.

Because she never wanted to face a future where Castle didn't bring her coffee. Never wanted to face a future where Castle didn't love her.

She tried to quell her rioting nerves as she walked quickly over to the deserted corner of the hall by the stairwell, conscious with every step that he was following. As usual—or not as usual since he was usually walking beside her. She liked that better, being able to glance at him and see his face, their hands occasionally brushing.

( _How pathetic and screwed up was she, to think like this, fantasize about him the way she did, and still not be able to tell him any of it?)_

She turned to face him, what little words she had drying up at the sight of his face, the way he was studying her with one of his intense expressions, the one that made her feel stripped bare, as if he were trying to see right through her, all his considerable concentration focused entirely on her.

Her mouth abruptly felt like a desert and she swallowed.

"Beckett? What did you mean to say?"

"I… don't want you to pursue it. Serena," she added awkwardly.

"Why?"

That was the question, wasn't it. She didn't have the right to tell him what to do and she owed him an explanation.

She remembered Dr. Burke saying that being able to be honest with herself and the people she cared about was part of the process.

One step forward.

"Because… I don't want you to love someone else," she blurted out.

She wasn't sure how she'd expected him to react, what she'd expected him to do or say, but stiffening and jerking back a little was not it.

Confusion and something like apprehension grabbed her by the throat. Something was off, something was wrong…

"You remember." It wasn't a question, his voice low and flat in a way she'd never heard it before.

Remember—oh shit. She'd been so nervous, focused on the tacit admission of her vulnerability, her feelings, that she'd forgotten the other thing she was hiding, her other secret.

Her hand came up to grip his jacket, to keep him from leaving or as a gesture of… something, she didn't even know what. She just wanted to keep him close.

"I… yes," she admitted, reluctantly, and then winced as he briefly shut his eyes as if the sight of her was painful to him. "I'm sorry," she rushed on. "It was wrong and… selfish of me. But it wasn't that I didn't… want to hear it or… anything. I just wasn't ready. I needed more time… to deal with it, everything that had happened. I just wanted more time to… get better first."

He didn't respond immediately and a brief silence fell in which she found herself counting out her too rapid heartbeats.

And then he gave a brief nod. "Okay."

She blinked. Okay what? "Okay? What does that mean?" She was peripherally aware that she sounded inane but she didn't care and she knew Castle of all people wouldn't think that of her.

"It means, I understand."

He did? That was good, right? But how could he? He said he understood—but she didn't and she didn't like not understanding something. "But I… lied to you," she faltered, her voice dropping into a shamed whisper. Because that was the stark, ugly truth. She, who spent her life ferreting out other people's dishonesty, had lied to this man, who... loved her in a way no other man ever had (or ever would). "How can you not be angry at me?"

"Part of me is angry at you," he admitted slowly and she tried not to flinch at this confirmation of her fears. "But Beckett, if I've learned anything, it's that if you… care about someone enough, you stay and work it out even when you're angry."

She didn't think he'd meant it like that, to guilt her, but she was shamed all over again by his words, struck, not for the first time, by the depths of his empathy and, yes, his love. If the situation had been reversed, she wasn't sure she could ever have been so understanding. She didn't deserve him but oh, she wanted to try, wanted so badly to be good enough for him.

"Castle, I—"

Whatever she'd been about to say—and even she wasn't entirely sure what it was—died on her lips, cut off by another voice. "Yo, Beckett."

She had to fight not to start and felt Castle jerk almost imperceptibly in his own surprise as they both turned to see Espo.

His eyes flickered to her hand grasping Castle's jacket and he quirked his eyebrows slightly but didn't comment, only went on, "We found the getaway van the thief used. It was dumped in an alley in Queens."

She blinked and had to cudgel her brain back into Detective Beckett mode to make sense of Espo's words. "Oh. Uh—any prints?" she asked, trying to sound brisk.

"No. Wiped clean. Very professional."

"Right. Okay. Uh, give us a second, Espo."

"Sure thing. Oh and Ryan has some surveillance video you're going to want to see," he added, the business-like words slightly belied by the faintly teasing quirk of his eyebrow, the smirk tugging at one corner of his lips.

Yeah, she was definitely going to be hearing more about this from Espo (and Ryan, since she had no doubt that Espo's first stop would be to tell Ryan about this. Gossiping mother hens that they often were.)

"We'll be there in a second," she repeated.

Esposito left after a last pointed glance at her hand still holding onto Castle's jacket.

Left alone (sort of), her eyes met Castle's.

"Sorry," she started, her words overlapping with his, "We'd better go," and they both broke off, exchanging rueful smiles.

She felt her spirits lift, irrationally, something like hope bubbling up inside her. They could do this, were still them. This was Castle, her best friend (with due apologies to Lanie), the man she knew, the man she trusted more than anyone else except her dad.

"We'd better go…"

"Back to work," he finished. "I know. I get it, Beckett."

"We have a case," she said apologetically and entirely unnecessarily, since she knew he, of all people, really did understand. She was suddenly reminded of that time more than a year ago, of the way she and Castle had ducked out of their respective dates at Drago to go to that pet shop. "But when this case is over, we can talk some more?"

It came out as sounding like more of a question than she meant it to but it worked, his eyes, his expression, lighting up with his smile, infusing her with hope.

"Yes, of course, yes."

She smiled and gave his jacket a light tug before finally releasing it. "Come on, Castle. We have a case to solve."

"Hey, Beckett?"

She paused mid-step, turning back to him. "Yeah?"

"I won't."

He wouldn't what? Something in his expression, the almost shy, hopeful, loving expression caught at her. He was… looking at her much as he had that day in the hospital… before she'd sent him away. And somehow the reminder of that day provided the clue she needed to understand him.

What she'd told him at the start of this conversation—that she didn't want him to love someone else.

Oh. Oh god, _Castle_ … She forgot how to breathe, forgot how to move, could only stare and almost will him closer to her.

"Beckett, the case?"

Right, they had a case. Dratted man. He told her something like that _now_ when they really couldn't talk about this more, had already been interrupted once?

Case. A murder to solve, she reminded herself. She was a homicide detective, damn it.

She turned and this time, he fell into step beside her, his hand brushing hers, and she gave into a moment's impulse and allowed her fingers to briefly tangle with his. It wasn't quite holding hands but wasn't quite not.

Rather like the talk they'd just had, it was a start.

 _~To be continued…~_

 _A/N 2: More talking to come, I promise!_


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: I did promise more talking so here it is…

 **What Is Supposed To Be**

 _Chapter 3_

Beckett was silent on the way back to the precinct and Castle tried not to feel apprehensive about it.

He didn't even know why he should be apprehensive. He hadn't actually _done_ anything.

But he hadn't exactly been comfortable all evening long, had felt antsy and irrationally guilty during the entire dinner with Serena, the sense of wrongdoing turning his food into sawdust in his mouth. He'd felt as if he were cheating.

He wasn't cheating, he told himself for approximately the thousandth time. For one thing, he and Beckett weren't technically together. Well, no, that didn't sound or feel true either. There might still be a wall but she'd said she wanted him to wait for her, that she didn't want him to love someone else. It wasn't exactly a declaration of love but it was enough—more than enough for now. And he'd promised to wait and he kept his promises. So they might not technically be together (yet) but he was still… committed to Beckett. (And really, who was he kidding, he would give Beckett a ring tomorrow if he thought there was even the remotest chance she would accept it and wouldn't run for the hills.)

Even so, it wasn't like the dinner was a real date; it was a distraction, a ruse, one that Beckett herself had suggested, and he had no intention of doing anything with Serena except for having a nice dinner and interesting conversation. For research purposes and a diversion for Beckett and the boys.

But he couldn't help but remember the look on Beckett's face when she and the boys had emerged from Serena's hotel room to find him on the floor. And fine, it probably hadn't helped that Serena's idea of making sure he was okay had involved her hand on his chest and her bending over him in a way that ensured he got a nice view down her dress.

He hadn't looked! (Okay, he hadn't looked much. What, he was a man and he wasn't blind and her… assets were right there!)

Beckett's expression had been, well, mostly shocked but beneath the surface, there had been other emotions lurking, something darker, something he couldn't put a name to.

Finally, when he thought he might actually crawl out of his own skin in his nervousness, he ventured, "Beckett?"

"Yeah, Castle?"

 _Are you angry?_ He bit the question back. One thing he did know was that asking such a question to a woman was never the right thing to do. Besides, he and Beckett didn't talk that directly. Although he thought their days of not talking about this sort of thing should really be coming to an end right about now. Not talking hadn't exactly been working for them. ( _No, outright lying worked so much better_ , a tiny voice in his mind interjected sarcastically. He tried to squelch the little voice of his lingering anger. He couldn't think about that now. Didn't want to think about it at all but he knew that was too much to ask and avoidance never solved anything.)

"You're quiet," he finally said, inanely.

She flicked a glance at him. "You're the chatterbox, remember, Castle, not me."

He relaxed somewhat at the teasing he heard in her voice. Teasing was good. If she was teasing him, she wasn't mad at him. And her teasing gave him the courage to go on. "Just making sure nothing's wrong."

"I'm fine," she bit off, her tone a little too clipped for his liking. He tensed again but her tone wasn't angry; it was more her 'I don't want to talk about it' tone, the one she tended to deploy right before deflecting. And on cue, she added, "You want to explain how you ended up on the floor?"

"You told me to stall and distract her so I tripped getting out of the elevator."

"You tripped?" Now she sounded amused.

"Yeah. Well, pretended to trip, really. I mean, I can be a klutz but I'm usually capable of walking on a flat surface without falling," he joked.

She shot him a sideways glance. "You're changing up your M.O., Castle," she drawled, her tone bland.

He blinked, confused. "I'm what?"

"The last time you needed to distract someone, you used a different method."

The last time—wait. Was she actually referring to… that thing they never talked about? He almost choked on air as he was abruptly bombarded with memories of the bite of the cold air, the dark alley, the feel of her hair in his fingers, the taste of her mouth, the sound of her moan…

He tried, and failed, not to lose himself in the memory for a moment and had to force his brain back to the present, scramble for coherence, words. "I… uh… this was different." He had considered kissing Serena to distract her for about half a second but decided against it because he'd already felt guilty enough just having dinner with Serena. He wasn't such an idiot that he would compound that nagging guilt by kissing Serena, even if it was just a ruse. (Besides, he didn't want to kiss anyone besides Beckett.)

"Different, huh? Yeah, I suppose it would be different to kiss a thief and a murder suspect."

Oh right, that. He hesitated but decided to forge on. "Ah, yeah, about that, I don't think she did it."

Kate shot him an incredulous look. "Are you kidding me, Castle? We have the emails and the equipment from her hotel room and you're saying you think she's innocent? You know, having a nice rack doesn't automatically mean she's innocent," she said caustically.

"That's not why I think she's innocent!" he protested. It _wasn't_. "It's because she told me outright over our dinner that she used to be a thief. Why would she do that if she was involved with this one?"

She scoffed. "Yeah. Or she could be feeding you just enough truth so that swallowing the lies is easier! You know that's what the best liars do."

They had arrived back at the precinct and she opened the door in an irritated silence. (Okay, so he might be reading too much into the atmosphere—a writer's weakness—but he could swear by the set of her lips that she was still annoyed.)

She stalked back into the precinct, not waiting for him as she usually did, and he hurried to catch up. "Look, Beckett, I'm just saying, it's a possibility and maybe you should go in there with an open mind."

"Yeah, I don't think you're thinking with the right body part there, Castle."

She was jealous, he realized, and perhaps a little… insecure. The word startled him. He didn't tend to associate insecurity with the kickass Detective Beckett he knew so well but from what she'd said earlier about thinking he was with Serena, the intonation in her voice…

He needed to fix this. He would never want Beckett to be hurt in any way and beyond that, the thought of Beckett doubting herself just seemed wrong. He put a hand on Beckett's back and ushered her with him around the corner of the hallway.

"Castle, what—"

He dropped his hand once they were around the corner and in the somewhat more secluded hallway leading to the property room. "You're wrong," he blurted out unthinkingly.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "What?"

He quickly backtracked, belatedly realizing his mistake. Stupid! How was it that Beckett managed to reduce him, a wordsmith, to such incoherence? "Before, you suggested that I didn't kiss Serena because she was a thief and a suspect. That's not why."

Her expression softened almost imperceptibly but he, who had spent the better part of the last three years studying every expression that crossed Kate Beckett's face, saw it. "Then why didn't you kiss her?"

"Because I met this woman a couple years ago, see, and she became the standard to which I compare all other women." He went on, deliberately keeping his tone light. "And Serena's too blonde, for one thing."

"Too blonde?" Now he could tell by the shape of her lower lip that she was biting the inside of it to keep from smiling. (What, he'd practically made a study of the shape of Beckett's lips.)

"Yeah. Because this woman I met who changed everything is a brunette. She's also tall, smart, gorgeous. Thinks she can leap tall buildings in a single bound and carries the weight of the world on her shoulders."

She made a soft sound, something between a gasp and a strangled laugh. "She sounds like a handful."

"She can be but I'm pretty sure I drive her crazy a lot of the time too so I think we're even."

A small smile escaped her and he returned it, his heart lifting as it always did at the sight of her smile. "Yeah, I guess we are."

He opened his mouth to respond but before he could, another voice intruded. Because of course that would happen.

"Hey." Ryan poked his head around the corner. "There you are, Beckett. Clumsy," he nodded at Castle in acknowledgement.

Yeah, he should have known the boys were going to be giving him a hard time about the tripping thing.

"She's waiting for you in Interrogation One," Ryan went on.

"Thanks, Ryan. Be there in a sec."

Ryan nodded and glanced at Castle again. "Try not to trip on your way."

Castle gave a fake laugh, making a face, but it was lost on Ryan as he retreated.

"Come on, Castle, you can go watch with the boys."

Wait, what? "You're benching me?"

She shot him a look. "Since you've just been trying to convince me that Serena's innocent, I think it's clear that you can't be objective about her. Besides, Gates wouldn't like the way it looked to have someone who was just sharing a cozy dinner with the suspect in the interrogation."

He opened his mouth on automatic protest but had to admit that she was right. And it wasn't as if Gates was a big fan of his mere presence to begin with. Damn.

"Gates doesn't like anything," he settled for muttering under his breath.

"Maybe not but she's the Captain so deal with it."

"I can still pout about it though, right?"

That got her to shoot him a grin. "I would expect nothing less from you, Castle."

He smirked at her, his spirits restored at the sight of her smile, the sparks of amusement lighting up her eyes. She shot him a last teasing look before disappearing into Interrogation and he felt his heart give a silly little leap as usual whenever she gave him one of those sparkling looks from beneath her lashes. He was such a lost cause; he couldn't even seem to stay angry at her for long. Couldn't stop himself from reacting to every smile she gave him, every teasing glance. And it was worse now because, well, a man couldn't be totally head over heels in love with a woman who seemed determined to keep a certain distance between them and then have that woman tacitly admit that she returned his feelings and not be completely giddy for days, weeks, possibly even months, afterward.

He mentally shook himself. They still had a case to solve and right now, he had an interrogation to observe. He took a moment to school his expression into sobriety before opening the door to the observation room. He might be ridiculously besotted with Beckett but he didn't need to make that quite so obvious to the boys.

* * *

The case was solved and Serena Kaye was, thankfully, gone.

Kate didn't even bother trying to pretend not to be glad to see the woman leave. She might not have turned out to be involved in the murder and it wasn't like anything had actually happened between her and Castle but Kate still couldn't bring herself to actually like the other woman. Strutting around in her heels and sexy dresses (seriously, who dressed like that when she was working?) and flaunting her no doubt unscarred voluptuous body.

What Kate no longer had. She tried not to think about it but the thought kept edging into her mind ever since coming out of Serena's hotel room to see Castle lying on the floor with Serena bending over him in a way that Kate just knew would be giving Castle a perfect view down the front of her dress. The sort of pose Kate couldn't imagine striking anymore because her cleavage now featured an ugly knotted lump of scar tissue. There was nothing sexy about a bullet hole.

She shoved the thought out of her mind as Castle gave her a small smile. "Another case closed."

He was—she could tell he was—deliberately sounding (and looking) bland, not a hint of expectation in his voice but the words were a reminder of their agreement—promise?—to talk more once the case was over. And now it was.

So that would be her cue. Oh god oh god. A flock of butterflies had taken up residence in her stomach, flapping around as if caught in a windstorm. She abruptly found it a little hard to breathe.

( _So pathetic._ )

This was Castle, her best friend. She could talk openly to Castle. Right? All she had to lose was… him.

Shit, that hadn't turned out to be reassuring at all.

"So now that the case is over, you want to get a burger?" she suggested, feeling ridiculously shy, girlish, like a teenage girl about to ask a boy she had a crush on to the Sadie Hawkins dance. God, what this man could do to her.

His smile deepened. "Remy's?"

"Yeah, sure."

He heaved a sigh of exaggerated relief. "Good because I'm not sure I can afford a more expensive date."

She felt herself flush. A date. He'd called this a date. And it really kind of was, wasn't it? But she responded to his distraction. "Why can't you afford it?"

He pulled a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket. "Because the museum just slapped me with a bill for that exhibit I broke."

She blinked at the paper. Oh, wow, that was a big round number. More than what she made in a year or two years for that matter. "Whoa."

"I know. You'd think they'd cut me some slack, after the whole helping-to-solve-a-murder thing."

He was puffing up his chest in mock indignation and she had to bite her lip to control her smile—because the alternative was beaming at him like a loon and possibly blurting out that she thought he was adorable. "Well, don't worry, Castle, since I was the one who invited you, the burgers are on me. Consider it the NYPD's way of paying you back for your assistance."

He pretended to think about it. "Thank you, Beckett, I accept. One more day to stave off having to live on bread and water."

She suppressed a laugh, some of her tension unwinding. "Yeah, you could put Alexis through college with that amount of money." She couldn't imagine why the bill was so high since the TVs in the exhibit had all been old and basically worthless ones except to someone who collected antique electronics but she supposed being designated as "art" put a premium on it.

"I know," he groused with so much exaggerated petulance she felt another bubble of a laugh rising inside her. "I mean, it's not like I broke that stupid exhibit for fun. I was trying to solve the murder of their own museum director. Where's the gratitude, their support of civic duty?"

She clicked her tongue against her cheek in mock commiseration. "It is really hard to be you, isn't it, Castle?"

He gave a loud, entirely fake gasp as they stepped onto the elevator. "Are you mocking me?"

"No," she deadpanned but knew he could see the smirk tugging at the corners of her lips.

"You are. You're mocking me." He clapped a hand to his chest. "I'm wounded, Beckett. Can't you spare some compassion for a poor father who will probably need to sell his internal organs on the black market to pay for his daughter's education?"

Silly, ridiculous man. Her smile broke free (not that she was trying all that hard to hold it in). "You know, Castle, you did bring all this newfound poverty on yourself. You could have just said that the fist was inside the television. You didn't have to make such a big scene out of breaking the exhibit."

"Have you met me?" he scoffed, throwing a histrionic hand up in the air. "It's a basic maxim of writing that you should show, not tell. And besides, Martha Rodgers's son does not just tell people things; that's _boring_. I was taught from an early age the value of dramatic presentation."

Even while declaiming, he automatically held the door open for her as they left the precinct. It was a mild evening so they fell into step on an unspoken agreement to walk the handful of blocks to Remy's.

"I'm sure your mother will be very proud of how you followed her precepts," she retorted dryly.

"She won't be when I start charging her rent in order to pay off the museum bill. Hey, I like that idea."

"Castle!" she scolded although she couldn't inject any actual indignation into her voice since she knew he didn't mean a word of it.

He made a face at her. "Fine, spoil my fun. It was only a suggestion. Anyway, I still say it's ridiculous that the museum is charging me that much for that piece of so-called art. I mean, really, if I ran to a junk yard and picked up an old TV as a replacement, would anyone even notice the difference?"

He was being silly but she couldn't help the rush of affection— _face it, Kate, love_ —spilling through her veins because she knew perfectly well that he was carrying on in this ridiculous vein to set her at ease. Because that was what Castle did.

She pursed her lips and tilted her head, pasting on an expression of mock thoughtfulness. "Yes, I think they would. I'm sure the artist put a lot of thought into which specific televisions to place where and I thought the piece was an insightful symbolic representation of our current celebrity culture."

He threw her an exaggerated pout. "You're mocking my pain. I really wish you'd stop being mean to me."

"Well, where's the fun in that?" she quipped.

He laughed aloud at that sally and she grinned, feeling a silly, giddy thrill wiggle through her. She liked the sound of his real, honest laugh, liked the way it made his eyes brighten, and she really liked being able to make him laugh.

Just as he was always able to make her laugh. And he was still trying to make her smile. Even after he knew she'd lied to him. Something squeezed at her heart at how easily he forgave her. He had such a kind heart—a heart that he had, somehow, entrusted to her. Oh god. She needed to do so much better, needed to _be_ so much better.

And that had to start now, with honesty first.

Their elbows bumped companionably against each other as they walked and on impulse, she linked her arm with his. They didn't touch often, not really, but she did need to be better about showing him, somehow, since she knew herself too well to think that the words to bare her heart would come to her easily.

She felt rather than heard the quick, almost imperceptible stutter of his breath but then he moved on, switching to grumbling volubly about the artistic merit, or lack thereof, of the exhibit he'd broken. She let him patter on, ducking her head to direct a small smile at the pavement, safely hidden by the curtain of her hair. They did need to talk, seriously, and she didn't kid herself that the conversation they needed to have over dinner was going to be easy, but for now, at least, she could just enjoy the sound of his voice, let his familiar light tones flow over her.

Her smile faded as she wondered, not for the first time, how on earth she had ever managed to go three months without talking to Castle, without hearing his voice or seeing his smile.

They reached Remy's in short order to be greeted with the usual familiarity and good cheer by Susan, one of the regular waitresses, who seemed to have essentially appropriated them as her special charges whenever possible in their visits to Remy's.

They both greeted Susan and ordered their usual cheeseburgers with fries and a shake (strawberry for her, chocolate for him) but once Susan had bustled away, a silence fell.

Kate took a drink of water, both because her mouth suddenly felt dry and also to buy some time, and then finally looked up at him to see him watching her, his gaze steady and warm and reassuring. And somehow, it was as if his gaze loosened her recalcitrant tongue.

"I'm sorry I…" She faltered on the harsh word, _lied_ , and finished instead, "didn't tell you that I… remembered."

She needed to apologize again but as beginnings went, it was not the most felicitous one as the reminder, the unspoken reality that she'd lied to his face, had the warmth vanishing from his eyes and then he abruptly dropped them to fix his gaze on the table. He was shielding his expression from view. The knowledge hurt in some indefinable way. Maybe because it was evidence of how hurt, even angry, he still was, but even now, he didn't want her to see that.

She felt her throat start to close up on a lump of emotion but she forced herself to rush on. "I—it was… selfish and stupid but it just… hurt too much at first and I… I couldn't untangle everything that happened that day in my head. I was… too messed up." Drastic understatement. She heard him draw in a sharp breath but he didn't respond and she forced herself to continue, swallowing back the constriction in her throat. "And I never meant it to go on as long as it did, never meant not to call, but I was such a wreck. I couldn't deal with it… I just…"

"Kate," he sighed, interrupting her. "You told me this already. You don't need to explain."

"Yes, I do," she contradicted him. Her lie about not remembering wasn't the only way in which she'd wronged him. "I just… I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you, Castle."

At that, he finally looked up at her again. "I know."

Something about the utter simplicity of the statement, the unwavering confidence in it, caught at her throat. "I missed you," she blurted out unthinkingly. Because it was true. She'd missed him every day, every hour. And it occurred to her now that she hadn't told him that in their brief conversation at the swings last month.

The set of his lips softened just a little. It wasn't a smile, not quite, not yet, but it was getting there. "I missed you too."

She managed a faint twitch of her lips, a little bit of warmth kindling in her chest. She said nothing more and for a moment, their gazes meshed and melded and she thought, fancifully, that in the brief silence, the tear in the fabric of their relationship was being stitched up. (She had spent too much time with a writer when she started thinking in such terms.)

She wished—oh she really wished—that could be the end of it, that they could move on, but she knew there was more she needed to tell him.

She'd promised herself she'd be honest with him.

"Castle."

"Hmm?"

"I—you should know…" she hesitated. God, she didn't want to look… weak… in his eyes. She didn't want to look weak in front of anyone but to him… His was the opinion she cared most about. She wanted so badly to be… extraordinary, wanted to be the person he thought she was.

But she'd told Dr. Burke that she didn't think Castle would think less of her. She knew he wouldn't.

"I'm in therapy," she finished in a rush.

His eyes widened ever so slightly but he didn't otherwise react.

"I went back, after…" After she'd frozen in that first case back.

"After you passed the mandatory psych eval," he supplied helpfully. Yes, that too. And of course he knew. Knowing him, he'd no doubt researched every single one of the hoops she'd needed to jump through to get cleared again for active duty.

"Yeah. I'd told him that I didn't remember because I wanted to be cleared to work but then in the Sonia Gilbert case, when I… froze." She paused, swallowing back the memory, the humiliation of that moment. She hadn't wanted to admit it, had told herself over and over again she'd be fine. She was a Homicide Detective and she'd faced down guns before and she refused to think that anything would be different on this side of a bullet wound. And then… she'd frozen like any rookie facing down his first gun. Frozen like the proverbial deer in headlights. "I… you were right. I wasn't okay. So I went back. It's hard," she admitted in lame understatement.

"Kate…" he breathed. "I didn't know."

She managed a wry twist of her lips. "I never told you before. Nobody except my dad knows." She let out her breath, tried to make herself meet his eyes, but found herself focusing instead on a spot between his eyebrows. Her breath was, again, a little shallow. God, she was so bad at this, at talking about things like this. "I told you once that I wanted… someone to dive into it with." She heard him suck in a quick breath at the reference but forged on before she lost what little courage she had. If she stopped now, she had the bad feeling she wouldn't be able to bring herself to continue. "But you were right when you said that I was hiding, keeping one foot out the door. I'm just… bad at this, at relationships. I don't know how to dive into it. But I want you to know… what I said the other day, I'm trying to get better. I'm… trying," she said again dumbly.

"Kate, I… it's okay. I get it and I'm not going to push you into anything you're not ready for." He reached across the table and lightly grasped her hand, making her gaze jerk to his hand covering hers, her heart fluttering. They didn't do this sort of thing, hold hands, but it occurred to her that maybe they should because it felt good. His hand was warm and comforting and she just… liked the way it felt.

Her throat seemed to have closed up but she turned her hand over so she could curl her fingers around his in turn and for now, she thought, she hoped, that was enough. And when she lifted her eyes to look at him, she saw that he was, for the first time since this painful but necessary conversation had started, smiling. Just a slight curve of his lips, a smile that existed mostly in the light in his eyes, but it was a smile. And it gave her hope.

There was a beat of silence and then he added, with somewhat forced lightness, "You're not getting rid of me that easily, Beckett."

She huffed a laugh as she knew he wanted. "Foiled again," she managed to joke.

He smirked. "I'm like the proverbial bad penny; I keep coming back."

"You are certainly persistent," she agreed, not even trying to disguise the warmth in her tone.

"I'm really quite amazing like that," he boasted with mock seriousness.

She laughed and at that point, their burgers arrived, necessitating that they stop holding hands.

By some unspoken agreement, they didn't return to the serious conversation over dinner, keeping things light, with him, as usual, doing most of the talking, telling funny stories from times he'd taken Alexis to various museums when she was little.

Kate let herself smile and laugh and make teasing rejoinders, feeling the sense of rightness she felt so often when she was with Castle settle over her, the sense that there was nowhere else she would rather be. And now, she could simply accept it as true without reservation or denial.

She paid for their burgers, as promised, and Castle thanked her with another joke about her saving him from starvation.

As always, Castle opened the door for her but after she stepped out onto the sidewalk, she turned and as he joined her outside, stepped into him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

He stiffened for just a moment in surprise since they didn't hug either but then he was banding his arms around her, holding her in place.

She nestled her head against his shoulder, for a moment just letting herself breathe in his familiar scent. (When had his scent become so familiar to her anyway?) It was as if a tight little knot of fear she'd been carrying around for months loosened inside her at just the feel of his broad strength against her, the reassurance that he was staying with her, that she wouldn't lose him. Oh, she had needed this…

"Beckett?" he breathed, his tone cautious.

"You told me once that you're a speed reader," she blurted out, directing her words into his shoulder. What she wanted to ask would be easier to get out if she wasn't looking at his face.

"I am," he agreed slowly, confusion clear in his voice at the apparent non sequitur.

"I'm not a speed reader, Castle, so you're further along than I am, but we're reading the same story. Can you—will you give me some time to catch up to where you are in this story?" She felt rather than heard his breath stutter a little as he understood what she meant, what she was really asking. She wasn't good at this but speaking in subtext was easier.

His hands splayed on her back tightened a little before he answered, "Yeah, Beckett, I can do that," he promised. "I know I read fast," he added, falling in with the subtext.

She let out her breath. "Thank you, Castle."

She turned her face into his shoulder, breathing in his scent. She knew she would have to step away soon enough and they'd walk back to the precinct for her to pick up her car and then she would drop him off at the loft while she continued on to her solitary apartment, the usual end to her day.

But she would let herself stay in his arms for just a moment longer, as a reminder and a hope and a promise for where they were headed.

 _~To be continued...~_

A/N 2: To the guest reviewers wondering, I plan for this fic to be 5 chapters.

Thank you, everyone, for reading and reviewing, especially the guest reviewers I can't thank directly.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Continuing on with a post-ep for 4x7 "Cops and Robbers." I couldn't resist the chance to finally write about one of my all-time favorite episodes.

 **What Is Supposed To Be**

 _Chapter 4_

She couldn't stop looking at him. It was as if she needed the constant, visible reminder that he was still here, alive and unscathed.

Even the sound of his voice or his laugh wasn't enough; she needed to see him. She found her eyes constantly darting to him, drawn as if by a magnet, time and time again. Even as she tried to focus on Martha, who was in fine form tonight and, if possible, even more vibrant and dramatic than usual as she expounded on stories from when she'd played Titania in _Midsummer Night's Dream_ , the performance that the bank manager still remembered so vividly and had reminded her of.

She couldn't stop looking at him. All throughout the dinner with a table groaning under more food than even 10 people could eat, let alone 4, she kept getting distracted.

He was still here. He was fine. She hadn't lost him.

Her gaze tangled with his for at least the third time (in the last half hour) and his smile deepened ever so slightly. Yeah, he'd definitely noticed her staring. (Of course he had. Not even she could say she'd been able to hide it much.)

She felt herself flushing and managed to tear her eyes away from his, deliberately focusing on Martha and asking a question about her experiences from Shakespeare in the Park.

Martha's answer was predictably dramatic and involved a lot of hand-waving, one particularly energetic one nearly resulting in disaster as the wine in Martha's glass sloshed precariously close to the edge, making Alexis exclaim in warning.

Martha (also predictably) only shrugged it off and then proceeded to finish off the glass, declaring triumphantly, "There, problem solved."

She heard the rumble of Castle's laughter and swore she felt the sound fizzing through her like champagne and she couldn't help but glance at him again. He and Alexis were exchanging nearly identical smiles at Martha's antics as he raised his own glass of wine to his lips.

He had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt as he usually did while eating and she found her gaze snared by the shift and pull of the muscles of his forearms at his movements, a quick flash of heat flaring through her at the sensory memory of the strength of his arms around her. She tore her eyes away before anyone could catch her staring—oh fine, ogling—Castle's forearms, only to find her eyes snared by the curve of his lips. Again.

She hadn't kissed him earlier in the bank. She'd wanted to, had practically thrown herself at him and hugged him hard, burying her face in the collar of his shirt, not even caring that his clothes were a little smoky and dusty, torn between the urge to cry hysterically or kiss him as if there was no tomorrow. And when she'd finally managed to draw back to smile into his eyes, she'd been about an inch away from giving in and kissing him but then she'd heard the sound of a cough and then Martha's voice, reminding her that they weren't alone, were, in fact, surrounded by other people. Kissing Castle would have to wait. (If for no other reason than the amount of passion, and tongue, she fully expected from any kiss with Castle would not be appropriate in front of an audience, especially one that included his mother.)

But ever since then, it seemed as if the ghost of that lost kiss was haunting her. (She'd been spending too much time with Castle and ghosts might be on her mind after that haunted house murder a couple weeks ago.)

She couldn't stop thinking about it, couldn't stop her eyes from straying to his mobile mouth. Couldn't stop her mind from remembering—reliving—that moment from almost a year ago now, his fingers tangling in her hair, cupping her neck, the touch of his mouth, his tongue. The feel of his lip between her teeth. The heat and passion of his kiss that had effectively cleared her brain of just about any rational thought.

She'd almost lost him. For an endless minute or so, during which she hadn't been able to draw breath properly, she'd thought she _had_ lost him—and all she could think was that she'd never known what it was like to be with him. Not just physically but in every way, being in a relationship with him.

She'd come so close to never knowing what it would be like to sleep beside him, in his arms. What it would be like to wake up beside him, see him sleep-flushed and groggy. What it would be like to hear him tell her he loved her when she wasn't dying. What it would be like to say those words to him, see the way his eyes would light up.

Never knowing what it would be like to be in a relationship with a man she was completely in love with and who loved her too. To have the sort of relationship her parents had had.

She'd come so close to losing him permanently, losing him forever.

She'd thought she didn't want to lose him before but until now, her fears had been centered on losing him to another woman, losing him to him giving up on her, deciding he could do better than her. She'd feared losing him but had only thought in terms of feelings, of him being alive in the world and not in love with her.

Foolishly, she hadn't thought in terms of losing him like this, losing him to… not being alive. She couldn't even think the word, everything in her flinching away.

Maybe that was why she hadn't thought it, because it was simply unthinkable. It simply _could not be_.

Except that wasn't true. She of all people knew that. She knew that no one's tomorrows were guaranteed. Not only because she saw the truth of it every day but also because she'd lived the brutal truth of it.

Losing her mom had devastated her, damaged her in ways she was only now beginning to understand the full depths of, but she had, at least, managed to survive, endure. Losing Castle—she didn't think she could survive that. Not really, not ever. She would be an empty shell, emotionally crippled, just… done. Done with hope, done with happiness. Done with love.

She couldn't do this anymore. Couldn't wait. Because what if it turned out they'd waited only for tragedy?

She suddenly remembered what Dr. Burke had told her a couple weeks ago, that there was no right order to things, that it wasn't required of her to wait until she was cured.

Nobody's tomorrow was guaranteed.

And she heard Castle's voice in her head from more than a year ago. _The heart wants what the heart wants._

As of this morning, she'd still known the rational, logical reasons for putting off the inevitable (she wasn't sure exactly when she'd started to believe that she and Castle were inevitable but somehow she did)—her mom's case, her ongoing issues, her shooter, her double-damned wall. But none of that mattered in light of today, the fact that she'd come _so close_ to losing him for good.

She might still be afraid of her issues getting in the way, ruining things, but she was more afraid, was starkly terrified of the idea of anything happening to Castle before she even had a chance to show him how much she could (and did) love him, losing him before she could even try to love him the way he deserved.

Maybe it was time to listen to her heart.

Castle's voice intruded into her reverie (because she was, somehow, always attuned to his voice, every synapse in her brain reacting to the familiar tones of it). She might have missed whatever story Martha had been telling, just a vague remembrance of hearing the tones of Martha's dramatic tones in the background, but when Castle spoke, she heard. "On that note, Mother, I think it's time I cut you off. No more wine for you."

Martha paused mid-gesture to look at the couple drops of red wine that had splashed out of her now-refilled glass in the middle of a particularly theatrical gesture, the drops fortunately landing on Alexis's placemat. "Oh, don't be such a spoilsport, Richard. Celebrating life requires some messiness."

Castle raised his eyebrows at his mother. "Does it also require spilling wine on your granddaughter?"

Martha made a show of wiping the drops away with her napkin before making a dismissive gesture with the same hand. "Nonsense, Richard, the drops didn't go anywhere near Alexis."

"Still. Your gestures are getting bigger and anyway, when you start making things up completely, you've had enough."

"Says the man who makes up stories for a living," Martha retorted.

Alexis shot Castle a teasing look. "She has a point, Dad."

Castle gave Alexis a look of exaggerated betrayal. "Ét tu, Alexis? And must I remind you that it is my wine that I paid for?"

"I swear I raised him to have better manners than this, Katherine," Martha added in a pointed aside, ostensibly addressing Kate who laughed. "Well," Martha huffed, finishing her glass of wine with something like a flourish. "If that's how you're going to act, Richard, I do believe that's my cue to leave. I have a date for a long soaking bath upstairs. I trust no one will object if I don't stay to clean up since I did do the cooking."

There was, of course, only one answer to make to that, both Alexis and Kate assuring Martha in messy unison that she shouldn't worry about the clean-up.

Martha hugged Alexis and kissed Castle on the cheek before drawing Kate into a scented embrace. "Thank you for saving us, my dear," she murmured in Kate's ear.

Kate returned Martha's hug, warmth coiling in her chest at how easily Martha dispensed affection, how easily Martha appeared to forgive Kate for the ways she'd wounded Castle. "You don't need to thank me, Martha," she demurred. "I didn't do much of anything."

Martha drew back and met Kate's eyes, cupping Kate's cheek in one beringed hand. "Nonetheless. Richard never doubted that you would get us out and neither did I."

Kate managed a somewhat wobbly smile. "I'm just glad you're okay."

Martha patted Kate's cheek.

"Good night, my loves," she trilled as she swanned upstairs.

With Martha gone, the energy level in the room immediately seemed to drop and the noise level definitely did. Kate joined in helping Castle and Alexis clear the table and put the leftovers away, neither of them talking much but only making a few desultory comments.

That finished, Castle encouraged Alexis to go upstairs and finish her homework, overriding her not very forceful protest.

Alexis gave Kate a smile tinged with something like shyness. "Good night, Detective. Thanks for saving Dad and Grams."

"I was happy to do it," Kate responded. "Good night, Alexis." Kate hoped Alexis's smile was an indication that she was at least mostly back in Alexis's good graces now. She was unhappily conscious that she hadn't exactly given Alexis much reason to think well of her lately—hurting Castle the way she had was bound to make his family distrust her. She was a little surprised to realize how much it bothered her to think of Alexis's disapproval but bother her it did.

She busied herself starting to load the dishwasher as Castle accompanied Alexis to the foot of the stairs, one arm slung around her shoulders. She couldn't hear what they were saying and didn't try but she couldn't help but watch out of the corner of her eye. Since she still couldn't seem to keep her eyes from Castle for longer than a minute or so at a time. And more prosaically, she did love to see Castle in his father mode, when he was quieter, more sincere. Closer to the real man she knew he was, when his cocky façade had been stripped away.

Whatever Castle said to Alexis, it earned him a beaming smile, brighter than any she'd displayed thus far this evening, as the girl threw her arms around his neck. "I know. Thanks, Dad. I love you."

Kate forcefully kept her eyes averted since she really had no business to be watching this private father-daughter moment but it didn't keep her from hearing Castle's easy, affectionate response, "Love you too, pumpkin. Sleep well."

Her eyes returned to Castle, again, inevitably, only to meet his as he turned away from the stairs. He looked, she realized, now that his mother and Alexis were out of the way, more tired than he'd let on, his shoulders slumping almost imperceptibly. He'd been his usual smiling and joking self for the entire evening, having apparently shrugged off the events of the day like so much water slipping off a duck's back. She'd thought it was simply his generally sanguine temperament but now, she realized it had largely been an act, meant to reassure his mother and his daughter.

But he wasn't pretending anymore, not with her. He was letting her see.

Oh. She was suddenly filled with a sort of poignant joy mingled in with something like an odd form of envy along with guilt and respect, that he was able to lower his guard with her while she wasn't quite able to do the same with him. Not yet, not to the same extent.

She really needed to do so much better.

She realized she must have been staring at him (again) when he quirked his brows at her in something approaching his usual teasing.

"Is Alexis okay?" she asked instead, seeking a neutral topic. "She had a stressful day." The girl had been unusually subdued, at least from what Kate knew of her.

Castle's expression softened as it always did at the mention of Alexis. "She broke up with Ashley. It's been coming for a little while, I think, but it's still hard. But she'll be okay in time."

Kate nodded. "And she has you or Martha to talk to if she needs it. I'm sure you've both been through it enough to know what to say."

Castle made a face at her. "I beg you, Beckett, never refer to my mother's romantic history again in my presence."

"Excuse me," she said with mock solemnity. "I didn't mean to offend your delicate sensibilities."

"Delicate, ha," he pretended to grouse. "I am not delicate."

She gave in to her smirk as he joined her at the island and in unspoken accord, he started washing the actually delicate glassware and then passing them to her to dry. It was a surprisingly (or not so surprisingly) domestic little scene but what struck Kate was how easy it was, how comfortable. Aside from the week she'd stayed here after her old apartment had blown up last year, she hadn't spent that much time at the loft and yet somehow, it felt natural to be here, sharing kitchen space with Castle, working with him even in such a mundane task.

Maybe, she thought, it wouldn't be as awkward or hard as she'd thought to overcome her lingering fears. Maybe what she'd been doing all along was swimming against the current, as it were, and making things so much harder for herself.

They finished the dishes and she dried the last of the glasses while he washed his hands, reaching for another dishcloth to dry them with, and her gaze was snared, again, by the muscles of his forearms, his hands.

He made a small wave towards the couch in the front room. "You want to watch some T—" he began in a studiedly casual tone.

She cut him off with her mouth. She dropped the dishcloth she'd been using blindly onto the counter, stepped into him, caught his face between her hands and kissed him.

He stiffened at first in surprise, giving a small gasp that was swallowed by her mouth, but then his hands went to her waist and he kissed her back, his tongue slicking against hers.

Her head spun, her mind blanking. Mm, yes, this was what she remembered…

It took effort but she finally managed to end the kiss (reluctantly), although she couldn't bring herself to actually move, stayed where she was, caught against him, their noses brushing, their somewhat labored breaths mingling.

"I… uh… wasn't expecting that," he managed after a moment.

"I've been wanting to do that since… a few hours ago," she admitted.

A faint smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. "And I've wanted you to do that since, oh, about two years and seven months ago."

Two years—wait. A soft laugh spluttered out of her. "Since we met? You think I should have just succumbed when you were using lame pick-up lines to get me into bed?"

He huffed. "Excuse me. I have never used a lame pick-up line on you, Beckett."

"Sure," she drawled sarcastically. "You told me I had gorgeous eyes in the middle of an interrogation about a series of murders."

"That was not a pick-up line. That was the simple truth," he informed her with mock saintliness. His tone shifted, softened into sincerity. "You do have beautiful eyes. Even now, after spending so much time with you, I still haven't managed to describe them in a way that will do justice to them."

His phrasing set off sparks of memory in her mind and she remembered what he'd said to her in that hotel room in LA. Another time when she'd been so tempted to kiss him she'd almost forgotten how to breathe. A time when he'd—oh, it suddenly occurred to her that he had already loved her then. It had been in his eyes, in his expression, if she'd only been able and willing to see it, acknowledge his feelings for what they were.

And she had… yes, fine, she had loved him then too. The knowledge had been buried under a mountain of denial and stubbornness and doubt and fear—but the feeling had been there all along.

And now, finally, she accepted that Royce really had been right. She never wanted to have to look back and think, _if only_.

She kissed him, poured all her love and her apology and her wanting into his mouth.

His arms tightened around her, one of his hands somehow finding its way beneath the hem of her shirt to caress the skin of her lower back, the heat of his touch on her bare skin sending heat streaking through her veins, making her moan. Oh god, if just this relatively innocent touch affected her so strongly, what would it be like to have him touch her more intimately…

He was the one who tore his mouth away from hers on a gasp. "Wait, wait, we can't. We're… waiting, aren't we? I'm not—I can wait. I don't want to push."

Oh, this man… He was so good, was trying so hard to give her what he thought she wanted, even as she could feel the tension thrumming through his body, hinting at just how much he was holding back.

She kissed him again, softly this time, just a brush of her lips against his. "I don't want to wait anymore," she breathed against his lips.

He let out a ragged breath. "Kate, you're sure? There's no rush. You don't have to… skip ahead to the end of the story. I can wait until you're ready."

One of her thumbs moved to brush the skin at the corner of his mouth in an undeniable caress. "Castle, I realized today that I don't want to wait any longer for this, for _us_. I don't want to miss our chance." She paused, a small smile curving her lips. "I think today was a sign from the universe that we shouldn't wait."

His lips curved faintly in an echo of hers. "You don't believe in signs from the universe."

"But you do. And I think… I'm starting to be open to the possibility of it, of magic." For his sake, because of him, she could believe that they would make it, could handle anything.

She saw the spark of memory kindle in his eyes. "I knew I'd get you to admit it eventually."

"Eventually." She sobered. "I don't think it'll be easy. I'm still in therapy. I'm not… fixed yet. But I want to try, want to… be with you… And maybe, if you're okay with it, you can help me turn the pages until I catch up, because I'm getting closer?"

It was his turn to kiss her, taking the initiative for the first time, a relatively brief kiss that still left her in no doubt as to his agreement, before he drew back to rest his forehead against hers. "Yes, Kate, yes. You don't have to be anything different or more than what you are already are; you're enough, more than enough, just as you are. We can take it slow, just wade for a while before diving into it."

"Okay, that sounds good," she managed to say just before she covered his mouth with hers again and this time, oh this time, he wasn't holding back any more as he kissed her back. He was confident, passionate, taking possession of her mouth with his lips and his tongue.

He shifted, turning them until she felt the counter at her back, neatly trapping her body between it and his body, allowing him to exert a little more pressure, his lower body pressed firmly against hers.

She gasped and arched against him, delighting in the feel of his strength, the growing hardness in his pants. _Oh, oh god…_

His lips skated along the line of her jaw and then down her neck, finding a spot that made her moan, a spot she hadn't even known was so sensitive. He nudged the collar of her shirt aside to give him greater access to her neck, the soft skin above her collarbone, pressing his lips to her pulse point.

"Cas—sle," she managed to gasp, his name punctuated by something like a whimper, as his lips continued their devastating assault on her neck, his hands sweeping up her sides and stopping just when his thumbs were stroking the undersides of her breasts but not going any further.

"Hmm?" he mumbled against her skin.

"We're—ooh—bed. Now," she panted, giving up on trying to form complete sentences.

He jerked, his head abruptly lifting to stare at her. "Kate. Are you sure?"

She deliberately shifted, arching to press her lower body even more firmly against the hardness of his until he groaned. "Take me to bed, Castle."

His answer was a brief, hard kiss before he stepped away from the counter and took one of her hands in his. And then he did what she'd asked—ordered—and took her to bed. Finally.

He took his time in exploring every inch of her body, pausing to press his lips to the scar between her breasts with so much aching tenderness she felt her throat get tight. He loved her, all of her, and how could she mind about her scars when he so clearly didn't?

His lips moved on to press a few more intimate kisses to her breasts, as his hands strayed as well. He pressed his hand to the scar on her side and then he was sliding down so he could trace his lips along it too, making her gasp, a dizzying rush of lust temporarily winning out over the love, and then his lips slid lower and lower still…

Later, much later, she drifted to sleep, sated and happy and conscious of the warm bulk of Castle slumped beside her, surrounding her, comforting her. Strong and loving and hers and everything she'd been wanting and waiting for.

 _~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: It turns out I underestimated my verbosity so this fic will have 6 chapters and not 5. Also, fair warning that I'm going to be travelling next week and so will not be able to post. Apologies in advance for the longer than usual wait until the next chapter.

Thank you all, as always, for reading and reviewing, especially the guest reviewers whom I can't thank directly.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: The first of two chapters revolving around 4x9 "Kill Shot," which I've written about before but I trust these next chapters manage to be different enough to be interesting. Fair warning, this is a somewhat heavy, emotional chapter. I only hope it's worth the long wait.

 **What Is Supposed To Be**

 _Chapter 5_

She sent him home.

She knew he hadn't wanted to leave her alone but she'd told him he should go check on Alexis and Martha, guiltily conscious that she was playing on his devotion to his family to avoid the questions, his concerns, that she didn't want to face, couldn't face.

She couldn't deal with it, couldn't handle his concern—his love—on top of everything else. She felt as if she were being held together by fraying threads and she simply couldn't handle anything else, anything more. She was barely holding it together, had nothing to give him right now.

It wasn't selfish—or at least not entirely so—she told herself. He hadn't signed up for this, hadn't known what he was getting into. He'd thought he was starting a relationship with the Beckett he knew, the indomitable detective with the sardonic ripostes and cool competence at work. The Beckett she was trying so hard to be again, to become. The person he said was extraordinary.

It wasn't fair to inflict her broken, damaged self on him now, now when she had to focus all she had just on getting through this case without falling apart. She had already snapped at him—unfairly, she knew.

But she couldn't do anything about it now. Later, when this case was over, when she was better, had papered over the cracks in her being, she would make it up to him. Make it up to him in all the ways she'd learned in just over 3 weeks of spending almost every night with him, being with him. She would make it up to him, she promised herself, not just physically, but with her smilies and her teasing and her closeness. She would. Later.

But not right now. Not when she felt nearly ready to crawl out of her own skin with nervousness, her heart jumping into her throat at every sound and at this point, she wasn't even sure if she was imagining some of them. Her hands were trembling slightly, she realized, and she clasped them together in a vain attempt to still them. She was fine, she told herself bravely. Her door was locked and bolted; she'd checked her entire apartment to be sure it was clear of anyone else.

The sound of a horn blasting outside made her start violently, falling into an automatic defensive crouch, making an immediate liar out of her. Oh god oh god. She felt too open, unsafe, crawled until she was out of the line of sight from any window. A window was no protection. She hadn't even turned on the lights because she didn't want people to see she was home.

Her hands were trembling, her breathing jagged and harsh in her own ears. She crawled over to her nightstand, retrieved her gun, almost fumbling with her shaky hands.

 _Wait. Get a grip, Beckett_ , she heard a warning voice in her head. Heard Montgomery's voice from years before during a training exercise at the shooting range: _a gun doesn't give someone superpowers. It just increases the risk. It's a necessary tool for our work but don't let familiarity make you careless._

She put the gun down.

Another noise had her startling, panicked.

A drink, she thought. A drink would take the edge off. She made her shaky way out to her front room heading for the kitchen, for her liquor cabinet. But before she'd managed to do anything more than opening the cabinet door, a sharp crack had her stifling a shriek before she belatedly realized it had been a knock on the door. It came again and now, she recognized it for Castle's knock. And as if on cue, she heard his voice through the door. "Beckett, it's me. You there?"

She had told him to give her space, told him she was fine. Was he incapable of following directions ever?

The lingering adrenaline from her startle response abruptly switched focus, finding an outlet in anger. Anger strengthened, made her feel less broken, directed outward. She stalked to the door flinging it open.

"Castle!" she growled. "I thought I told you I needed some space tonight."

He didn't wait for an invitation—not that he really needed one anymore—just entered. "I came because I wanted to make sure you were okay. I know this case has—"

"Castle!" she cut him off. "I told you, go worry about Alexis and Martha. I'm fine. I'm dealing with it."

He narrowed his eyes, taking in her no doubt disheveled appearance. "Dealing with it how?"

She deliberately didn't look towards her liquor cabinet but he seemed to guess anyway. "You're not dealing with it at all, Beckett. What you're doing is avoiding the problem!"

"How would you know! You don't have the slightest idea what I'm going through right now!"

"I would if you'd just tell me!"

"Well, maybe I'm not ready to talk about it yet. Can't you give me some time to deal with things and not just barge in when I'm not ready and I don't want to talk!"

"The last time I tried giving you space until you were ready to talk, I didn't hear from you in three months."

She sucked in a breath, defensiveness fueling her anger now. "That's not fair. It's not the same thing at all. I almost died and I needed time to heal so I did and I came back. And just because I don't feel like talking everything out like you do doesn't mean I'm not dealing with it. I am and I just want some space so I can deal with things my own way! Just go home, go be with your family. They need you more."

"Alexis and my mother are fine," he retorted. "You are not. And if you think I'm just going to leave you to deal with this alone—"

"Who asked you!" she demanded, flaring up at him. "I told you I'm fine. Just because we're sleeping together doesn't give you the right to tell me what to do or what I need. I can—"

A siren pierced straight across her words, slashing at her nerves, and she gave a strangled shriek, dropping down. Sirens. Screaming. She couldn't, she couldn't. Oh god, it was happening again. They'd come for her. She couldn't breathe, clutched her chest, felt the burn of the bullet. Oh god oh god…

She was gasping, wheezing for breath. Couldn't hold herself up and felt herself toppling. And then she wasn't. She had tipped over into a person, felt gentle arms wrapping around her, gathering her in, holding her up. Heard a voice calling her name, telling her it was okay, she was safe, he had her. She knew these arms, that voice. Castle. The name broke through some of her haze of panic. Castle was here. He would help, stand with her. He always did. She knew little else at that moment, couldn't think to remember where she was or what had happened, but she did know that. He'd given her the single reason to want to smile when she was dying. And if he was there, she thought she might be okay, might make it through this.

And so she curled up against him, tucked into the safe haven of his body. Let the familiar tones of his voice soothe her, let the solid reassuring warmth of his body thaw the chill inside her. Breathed in his comforting scent along with oxygen.

She didn't know how long it was until reality, remembrance, began to creep back into her mind. Oh wait. She and Castle had been… fighting. (What had she said?)

She stiffened and managed to make herself sit up again. He shouldn't have to take care of her when he was angry. He was being kind, the sort of kindness that was too close a cousin to pity. She inwardly flinched. "I'm better now," she managed to say, stiffly, not able to bring herself to look at him. Too afraid of what she would see in his eyes. "You don't have to stay."

She heard him sigh. "Kate, don't do this again. I'm not going anywhere."

"You don't have to be so nice," she gritted out. "I know you're angry and probably want to yell at me and you'd be right. I was… I snapped at you. You don't have to—"

"You think I'm being nice? I'm doing this for myself. If anything, I'm being selfish."

Huh, what—how—the shock of the word, utter confusion, had her finally looking up at him. How could he—he was never selfish. Not when it came to her or anyone else he cared about.

"I'm staying because I want to. Because I can't even imagine trying to leave you right now. I'm staying so I can feel useful, so let me."

In some distant corner of her mind that was still functioning, she was aware that something was a little off about his reasoning but she was too fuzzy-headed, her mind not functioning properly, to work it out. And she was too shaken, felt too brittle, to fight anymore anyway. So she gave in, selfishly surrendering to her own exhaustion, her own need for him.

"Okay," she mumbled and let herself lean against him again.

He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her head down to nestle on his shoulder. "Okay," he agreed. "I'm right here, Kate."

She sagged into him. This was better, easier, she realized slowly. Not only because she felt safer, warmer, with him around, but because she could hear the steady thump of his heart against her ear. The reassuring rhythm of it gave her something to focus on, a distraction from the other noises. It made the world seem quieter. She could focus on the sound of his heartbeat, his breathing—and trust that he would warn her of any real threat. As he had in the cemetery.

She wasn't sure how much time passed before she became aware of his gently nudging her. "Kate? Come on, Kate. Let's go to bed. It's getting late."

Her mind was sluggish but she recognized that he was right. They had a case. She needed to be better. She needed to sleep, if she could. She pushed herself creakily to her feet, as he got up with her, and made her way into her bedroom, conscious always of him walking beside her.

The routine actions of getting ready for bed somehow soothed her too and she felt almost normal again as she slid into her side of the bed, heard the quiet sounds of him stripping down to an undershirt and boxers before taking his side of her bed. She scooted closer and they settled into one of their usual positions, her head resting on his shoulder, snugly tucked into his side.

"Night, Castle," she sighed.

She felt him brush a light kiss to her forehead. "Good night, Kate."

And with his warmth around her, cosseting her, she slept.

Only to jerk awake some time later with a scream tangled in her throat, blood and crosshairs and snipers with rifles stalking the corridors of her mind, the sound of gunfire echoing in her ears.

"Kate?" he murmured, his voice a little rusty with disuse.

She didn't—couldn't—respond, couldn't find her voice in order to do so.

He seemed to understand, drawing her in closer against him so she was lying almost half on top of him, with his arms wrapped around her. "Kate, it's okay," he soothed, "I'm right here, you're safe. You're going to be okay."

She let out a shuddering breath, tucking her face against his throat. "Castle," she gasped. "Castle." It seemed like all she could bring herself to say.

"You're okay, Kate. You're going to be fine. Just breathe." He kept up with murmuring reassuring words and continued to hold her and slowly, she felt the panic recede, and eventually, drifted to sleep, lulled into it by the metronomic thump of his heart beneath her ear, his warmth cradling her.

The next time she woke up, it was still with a little start of disorientation but not panic, and even the initial confusion dissipated quickly once she opened her eyes. To see Castle. Oh.

He was sleeping on his back, his face turned towards her, as if even in his sleep, he was oriented to where she was. There was just enough pale gray light filtering in through her curtains for her to study his so-familiar face, his morning stubble, the faint lines around his eyes and his mouth that would probably become wrinkles years down the line, when she still wanted to be waking up beside him. (That was what was different too about this relationship with Castle; she'd never thought in terms of years when it came to any previous relationship, had only thought in terms of months, if that.)

The quality of the light told her it was still early. Also her alarm hadn't gone off yet. She guessed, although she didn't try to turn over to check the clock on her nightstand, that it was probably around 5. They had time.

She had managed to sleep, more soundly than she ever would have expected yesterday, and because of it, felt… better, her mind a little clearer. She didn't expect today would be an easy day and she wasn't exactly confident about her ability to get through it without incident but for now, at least, the nagging worry could rest a little.

But with a clearer head came memories of the night before, when she had… fallen apart.

She cringed at the memories. What had she said to him? How could she have done that? Shame licked at her. Not just at what she'd said but also at her own weakness. The weakness Castle had now witnessed firsthand when she had never wanted him to see her like that. He had seen her collapse into a panic attack, cringing from the mere sound of a siren outside. He had seen just how broken she was.

She remembered telling Dr. Burke weeks ago that she didn't expect Castle to think less of her if he knew—and for the most part, she didn't. And yet… In some corner of her mind, that wasn't quite true. She had only told Castle she was in therapy to help because she'd frozen at the sight of a gun, because of her wall. She had not told him everything, not about how she still sometimes woke up from nightmares sweating and shaking or the way she cringed and cowered at unexpected noises. She hadn't wanted him to see her like that, hadn't wanted him to know just how damaged she was.

Because, she realized belatedly, some corner of her mind did wonder, was afraid that he would think less of her because she thought less of herself. She hated her own weakness, hated her cringing, cowering self, hated the way she couldn't control her own mind or even her body anymore. He was as generous, as empathetic, as anyone in the world, she didn't doubt that, but how could he not think less of her to realize that the woman he always said was extraordinary, raised up on a pedestal as the kickass, unflinching cop, was really this cringing pitiful creature who couldn't even hear a siren without spooking?

She hadn't felt like she could deserve Castle until she wasn't so broken. But she had… ignored that, been selfish, in starting a relationship anyway because she hadn't wanted to risk missing their chance after the scare at the bank (she wasn't sure she'd be comfortable in a bank or letting Castle go to a bank again, or at least not for a while).

And now she'd lashed out at him simply because he'd been worried about her…

Why couldn't she stop doing things like that? Why oh why couldn't she stop hurting him?

And how could she ever deserve him if this was what she did?

As if her increasingly agitated thoughts had disturbed his sleep, Castle stirred restlessly and then after a moment his eyes opened, blinking a few times before his gaze focused on her. A small, sleepy smile curved his lips. "Kate," he mumbled, his voice scratchy with sleep—and she tried to ignore the sparks that shot through her at the huskiness of his voice. His sexy, sleepy voice. ( _Stop thinking about that!_ ) Her resolve wasn't helped by the way he shifted towards her until he was snugly pressed against her from shoulders down, lazily nuzzling her ear. "Mm, hi," he murmured.

He was always like this in the mornings, she had learned, at least when he awoke naturally. Not that Castle was ever not affectionate, but when he was just waking up and still groggy, he was even more so, soft, cuddlesome. (There really was no other word for it.) She'd never been with anyone who liked to snuggle so much but what surprised her more was that she liked it. She usually wasn't the sort of person who liked to cuddle or linger in bed in the mornings but with Castle, sharing a bed with him, she was beginning to see that she might, after all, become more of that kind of person. Because it was nice to linger in the cocoon of their bed—his bed, usually, and oh god, how had she started to think of his bed as being _theirs_ so soon?—surrounded by his scent and his warmth.

At least, it usually was. She wasn't relaxed enough to enjoy it now and after a couple seconds, he sensed it too, her tension transmitting itself to him. Or more prosaically, maybe it was simply that as he woke up more, he remembered the events of the night before.

He tensed a little and after a moment, scooted back, just far enough so he could see her face. "How are you feeling?"

Oh, she hated this, hated being the sort of weakling that brought this sort of worry to his—to anyone's but especially to his—voice. She tried to infuse her voice with calm. "Better. Steadier, I guess."

He nodded a little. "Good."

He seemed to be at something of a loss for anything else to say and she forestalled him by blurting out, "I'm sorry."

He blinked, a faint frown creasing his brow. "For what?"

"For… everything." She tried, and failed, to produce a rueful smile. "For the way I lashed out at you last night, what I said. For falling apart like that. I… didn't want you to have to see me like that, deal with my… issues."

He sighed and pushed himself to sit up. "You don't need to apologize, Beckett, but if we're going to have this talk, I think we both need coffee first."

Oh god. She wasn't sure she liked the sound of that. She wondered when the prospect of a real, serious talk with Castle would stop being so terrifying but it hadn't happened yet. She was just… so scared of losing him, scared that he would decide she was too much trouble, scared that he would realize he could do better than her with all her issues and her darkness and her neediness.

She tried not to show it, hiding her face in her closet in a pretense of picking out her clothes for the day.

She heard Castle complete his morning routine and get dressed and then he was putting his hand on her shoulder, gently turning her around. She kept her gaze focused on his throat, nervous of what she would see in his expression, if he would be looking at her differently, treating her differently, after last night. But he touched his knuckles to the underside of her chin, nudging her face up so he could brush his lips lightly against hers. "Stop frowning, Beckett. I'm just going to get the coffee started."

A faint smile curved her lips almost in spite of herself. (Oh damn, it was really unfair how even the lightest kiss could make her mind go momentarily blank.)

The beginning of a smirk tipped up the corners of his lips and she knew he at least guessed at his effect on her but he didn't (for once) gloat over it, only left her room to start making the coffee while she tried to let the familiar actions of her morning ablutions calm her.

It wasn't entirely successful but when she emerged, having decided to wear a leather jacket that usually made her feel powerful, as additional armor, his reaction of slightly widened eyes helped.

"Hi. Hey. You look great." His somewhat fumbling response made her smile, for real, a little bit of the tension inside her loosening. His reaction, the way she still apparently could make him, the writer, the charming (former) playboy, lose all trace of suavity was reassuring.

"Thanks."

She accepted her coffee from him and after a moment, they each settled on her couch as opposed to her dining table. They didn't speak until they each finished their coffees, which wasn't that unusual for them but today, the silence wasn't a comfortable one. The very air felt thick with all that they needed to talk about. And usually they were touching in some way while they drank their coffees at home, sometimes with his arm around her or his hand resting on her thigh or with her leaning against him. Today, they weren't touching, sat on the couch side by side with a decorous distance between them.

She finished her coffee first, putting her empty mug down on the coffee table, followed shortly after by his finishing his own coffee.

He still didn't say anything and for once, she was the one who felt the need to break the silence. And maybe, after all, part of it was the thought that if her breakdown last night was going to change things, ruin things (oh god), it would be better to know, wouldn't it?

"I'm sorry," she blurted out, again. "For what I said, the way I… lashed out at you."

"You already apologized for that."

"I know but… you didn't get to be angry because of the way I… fell apart."

"I didn't want to be angry at you, Beckett, and it's really okay. It was just a fight." He shrugged a little although his expression wasn't quite as casual as the gesture. "It wasn't our first fight and I doubt it'll be our last."

She managed a faint smile at that. That at least was true.

"I didn't…" she blurted out, hesitated, and then finally repeated, for lack of any better way to explain herself, "I didn't want you to see me like that, last night."

"Beckett…" he sighed, shifting on the couch to face her more fully. "You keep saying that, that you didn't want me to see you like that, and I… Look, Kate, just answer me this, honestly—I'm a big boy, Kate, I can take it—did it help, yesterday, having me here? Did you want me to stay or were you just humoring me?"

She gaped at him for a moment. Had it helped, having him around? Could he really not know? "Yes, I—Castle, of course it helped. You always help. How can you not know that?"

He sat back and for the first time, it occurred to her that he looked tired, more, he looked a little dispirited. How much sleep had he gotten? Or had he spent most of the night awake? Awake and worrying about her. She tried not to flinch.

"How could I know it?" he countered her own question. "Beckett—Kate—I want to help you, be what you need, but I can't read your mind and it seems like every time you're hurting in any way, you hide, retreat like some burrowing animal."

She inwardly winced. It wasn't the most flattering comparison but she couldn't deny its truth. This last summer and even now, in spite of everything, she'd tried to hide. But what really stabbed at her was the hurt—no, more than the hurt, the defeat—on his expression. It was just so… wrong, so un-Castle-like. And she had done this to him, made him question whether she'd even wanted him to stay. God, why couldn't she get this right?

 _Tell me you need me._ She suddenly remembered what he'd said to her that day at the bank, before everything had gone to hell. At the time, he'd meant it lightly enough, even if it had thrown her a little, and then with everything that had happened, they hadn't returned to it but she heard his voice in her mind again and this time, it occurred to her that he really needed the reassurance. She… forgot… or hadn't realized that Castle might have his own insecurities, just as much as she did.

She reached out and grasped his hand, holding it in both of hers. "Castle, no, you do help. You always help. I—I do need you, you know. You make things better."

Now a faint smile brightened his expression and parodoxically, she felt her heart break a little as she realized he really hadn't known. But then—his own question returned to her—how could he know? She didn't tell him. She had, she realized, developed a bad habit of believing that Castle understood her, knew her, well enough that she didn't need to tell him things directly, could stick to subtext. It was what she had done months ago, in their conversation at the swings about her wall, but she'd realized that subtext wasn't enough, not on its own. But she was still doing that, wasn't she, avoiding real honesty and the vulnerability that came with it. Because it was easier that way, as hard as it was for her to talk about personal things. She didn't admit to needing people—no, she didn't really let herself need people at all. Had fought against needing Castle, let alone admitting it, for a long time.

And maybe in a lot of ways, Castle did know her well, he did understand her, but he wasn't a mind reader. And no matter his usually cocky attitude, he had insecurities too. Oh. Oh wait. It occurred to her belatedly that in this, they weren't that different; he didn't reveal his insecurities or his weaknesses much more freely than she did.

"I need you too, Kate."

He needed her? She didn't know how or why he would but she wanted it to be true.

He tightened his grip on her hand, hesitated, but then finally went on, "But if you need me, if it helps having me around, why didn't you want me to see you last night?"

Oh god, they really were having a serious talk about all this, weren't they? She couldn't hold his gaze anymore, dropped her eyes. "I didn't… want you to see… how weak I am," she finally muttered, addressing her lap rather than him.

"Kate, you're the strongest person I've ever met," he refuted her immediately.

She choked on something like a watery, disbelieving laugh. "I don't know how you can still say that. You saw… everything, how I just… lost it. And I… didn't want you to see that, didn't want you to… think less of me."

He sucked in his breath. "Kate, I'm in love with you, don't you understand that?"

Oh. Oh god. For a moment, she swore her heart stopped and then started to bounce around in her chest as she jerked her eyes up to him. He'd said it again. He hadn't said the words before, not again, even in these last weeks. There had been a few times, moments, when she'd thought he might, thought she could see it in his expression, but he hadn't said the words. Until now. Even after he'd found out how damaged she was.

"I love you, Kate, just as you are, scars and all. And it seems like every day, you give me reasons to love you more."

She managed a watery, if somewhat incredulous, smile. "Really?"

He lifted his hand to cup her cheek gently. "Really. And you might still be healing from all that happened to you but it doesn't mean you're not strong. All it means is that you're human." His lips quirked into a faint, tender smile. "Stop blaming yourself for not being a superhero, Kate."

Dr. Burke had told her much the same thing, hadn't he? That her needing help to get over her shooting and her mom's death wasn't a reflection of her worth.

She had listened, maybe even accepted as much with her head, but it hadn't been so easy to convince her heart. Now, with Castle, seeing the love in his eyes, she started to believe it. Because he knew, had seen her at her weakest and her worst, and he wasn't looking at her any differently. He still looked at her as if she was extraordinary.

And somehow, that made it easier for her to go on, admit the other, bigger reason she hadn't wanted him to see her like that.

"It's not only that, Castle. I didn't want you to—you shouldn't have to deal with my issues. You shouldn't have to… be woken up in the middle of the night because of my nightmares. You shouldn't have to—"

"Stop it, Kate, I want to be there for you. I want to be woken up when you have nightmares."

She sniffed, giving a wobbly attempt at a smile. "You're always so good to me, Castle, but you shouldn't have to take care of me just because I'm such a wreck. It's not fair to—"

"I don't need protection from you, Kate," he interrupted her. "You keep saying that I shouldn't have to do anything to help you as if you're forcing me or taking advantage of me. Believe me when I say that I've _been_ taken advantage of in a relationship and that is not what you're doing. You're not some sort of parasite and this isn't a competition where what's good for you, what helps you, automatically hurts me. You seem to think that just because you want me around, if you allow yourself to rely on me even a little, it's unfair to me in some way. But that's _not true_." His tone softened. "Do you have any idea what it does to me to know that you're hurting and that I can't do anything to help?"

That was what he'd said last night too. She hadn't really taken it in, had rather thought he was trying to turn the situation on its head, to make himself out to be the needy one in order to forestall an argument from her (which wasn't wrong). But now that she was clearer-headed, she really stopped to think about it. More, she remembered what it had felt like when he was held hostage in the bank, in those times of enforced inaction when everything in her had wanted to simply force her way into the bank and get him and Martha out, but she hadn't been able to.

And she heard his voice in her head from a couple months ago. _I watched you die in that ambulance… do you have any idea what that feels like…_

She knew what it felt like to have nightmares about him dying. Nightmares where she could not do anything to save him.

Oh god. She hadn't thought about it like that, hadn't really put herself in Castle's shoes. And part of that, to her shame, was because Castle hadn't hid his emotions from her in the same way she had. He had stayed; he hadn't left her to wonder and worry.

"Look, Kate, in all the time that we've known each other, the thing that has hurt the most has been knowing that you were hurt or sad and that I couldn't do anything to make you feel better." Shadows flickered across his expression, no doubt of memories of this past summer when she had shut him out and hurt him. And, she suddenly thought, there must have been other times even before this last summer, times in the last year when he'd wanted to help her, do more for her, and he hadn't let himself, she hadn't allowed it.

She couldn't hide anymore, could she? And what purpose did it serve, to try to deny that she needed him around, try to get through things without him, when all it did was hurt him and make things harder for her? What it did to her hardly mattered but she couldn't knowingly hurt him. She needed to do better.

"You said that you wanted to be with me, so be _with me_. Let me in, Kate," he added quietly, a note of entreaty in his voice.

Something like a sob erupted from her—she wasn't even sure why—and she threw herself forward to land against his chest.

"I do want to be with you, Castle, but I told you I'm bad at this. I messed up, I'm sorry, but I do need you. I do," she found herself almost babbling into his shoulder.

He wrapped his arms around her, tugging her in until she was almost sitting on his lap. "It's okay, Kate. We're okay. We're going to be great. We already are great together."

She managed a shaky little laugh. "Great, huh, Castle?"

He drew back just enough to look at her, pasting on an expression of mock surprise. "You don't think we're already great? Amazing, then? Marvelous, incredible, phenomenal, mind-blowingly awesome?" he suggested, making her giggle in spite of herself at the flood of adjectives. (Damn, the man really could make her giggle.)

His lips curved into a small smile. "There, that's better."

"What's better?"

"You're smiling," he noted. "I like it when you smile," he added, suiting action to the words by kissing her smiling mouth.

He drew back slowly, dropping a teasing kiss on the tip of her nose as he did so. "See, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Easy for him to say. She felt as if she'd been through an emotional wringer.

He caught her skeptical look and clarified, "We're still here, still together, and stronger than ever."

Well, that was true too. Especially given all her nebulous fears at the start of this conversation. And it was important, she knew, that they could have this sort of conversation.

"Fair point," she conceded, managing a faint smile.

"I'm going to go home, check on Alexis and my mother, and then I'll see you at the precinct in a little while, okay?"

He pushed himself to his feet and she followed beside him to her door, stepping into him to wrap her arms around his waist. "Thank you, Castle."

"Always, Kate."

He kissed her again, briefly, and then he was gone, leaving her to close her door after him, and then turning to lean back against it for a moment.

Her eyes wandered, only to freeze on the clock in the kitchen, stunned to realize that it was still early, barely after 7. She hadn't thought about it but if asked, she would have said that they'd been awake for many hours. It seemed incredible that this cataclysm of a conversation could have taken place over not more than an hour or so and yet, it had.

And she needed to leave for work. She pushed herself away from her door, moving to pick up their mugs and take them to the kitchen.

They were still in the middle of the case, had a sniper to catch. She expected it was going to be another long, difficult day—but she realized, as she got ready to leave, that she felt… better, a little stronger. She didn't kid herself that she was fixed or even close to being her best but she did feel more put together, the fraying threads around her composure reinforced by Castle's words, his love. And for the first time, she thought she might actually be able to get through this case.

 _~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: Thank you all for reading and reviewing.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: The last chapter, and the second one revolving around "Kill Shot." Fair warning, this is another long, heavy, emotional chapter—but it ends happily, I promise.

 **What Is Supposed to Be**

 _Chapter 6_

She couldn't do this.

She couldn't, all her fragile, newfound confidence lying in ruins, proven for the blind bravado that it had been.

She couldn't breathe, her chest tight, her eyes stinging, Emily Reese's terrified, panicked words ringing in her ears. She could feel the burn in her own chest, her own terror as she'd been lying on the grass, believing she was going to die too.

Oh god.

She was vaguely aware of hearing Castle calling her as she fled but she couldn't answer him, couldn't stop. She was running—again—not from him but from everyone else. It was asking too much for her to fall apart when there were so many cops around, the uniforms and everyone else in the Grace Point Tower streaming out of the building.

The only difference was that this time, she thought, she expected, that Castle would follow her.

She choked back the sobs building inside her, but the first sob ripped from her throat as she pushed open the door to the stairwell, thankfully empty.

She regretted her decision to wear a turtleneck, felt as if she was strangling, but could only tug at the neck of it, even as she dropped her gun and her badge, shed her jacket—so much for it being a confidence builder.

"Kate?"

Castle. Oh thank goodness…

He joined her in the stairwell and she reached for him blindly, not quite able to see through her tears, as she collapsed against the solid, welcoming wall of his chest.

He wrapped his arms around her and she sagged gratefully into him, gripping his jacket with her hands as she sobbed into his shirt.

This was so much easier, better, she thought vaguely. Having him there to hold her. Easier to fall when someone was there to catch her.

Her sobs didn't last for long—Kate rarely cried and when she did, her tears almost never lasted long—but even after the tears ceased, she didn't move, stayed in the comforting warmth of his embrace. She just… liked it, liked being in his arms. Liked the strength of his arms around her, liked the way one of his hands was rubbing her back in long, soothing sweeps. Liked the way he was murmuring quiet sounds that never quite resolved themselves into coherent words but served as an additional reminder that he was there. Slowly, she unclenched her grip on his jacket and let her hands creep around his back to hug him.

She buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent, and then let it out in a sigh that somehow got mixed up with a last lingering sob and ended up sounding like a hiccup instead.

"I don't think I can do this," she muttered against his shoulder.

His hand momentarily stilled in its soothing motions. "Do what, Kate?"

She had to force the words out because she hated this sort of admission of weakness and she never slacked on work but after this last incident, she couldn't deny that she wasn't in control of herself right now. She hadn't been since this case had started. "I don't think I can work on this case," she admitted haltingly. "I just… I need to be better but I'm not and I—I don't think I can do this."

Just as Captain Montgomery had kicked her off the Raglan case, or as Jordan Shaw had kicked her off the Dunn case after her apartment had blown up, she had to accept that she was too close to this, was too affected by all this. She wasn't dealing with it, wasn't in control.

She hadn't wanted to admit it—never liked admitting failure—but now she knew. She was a liability and Sarah Vasquez, Henry Wyatt, Emily Reese, they all deserved better. They deserved, needed, someone in charge who wasn't liable to collapse at the mere sound of a siren.

He sucked in his breath a little, tensing a little. "Kate," he began, his tone already communicating his automatic, instinctive denial.

"No, Castle," she contradicted. "Think about it, honestly. I'm not… in control right now. I haven't been. You saw just now, the way I fell apart, again, because of what Emily Reese said. And you know… I haven't been…" this one was harder, a harder admission to make, but she was being honest, was facing the truth unflinchingly now. "I haven't helped on this case. I've been… an albatross around your necks. The way I lit into Marcus Ford, and again just now. I'm not… functioning, haven't helped. Not like you, figuring out the paper dolls, or Espo with his sniper training―you've all been picking up the slack but it's… this is my case and I—I'm supposed to be leading it, not holding you back, and that's all I'm doing."

"So that's it, then? You're having a hard time and so you're just giving up?" There was a definite challenge in his voice, one that set off automatic sparks of defiance in her mind, had her tensing, straightening up so she was no longer sagging against him. "That doesn't sound like the Detective Beckett I know."

"Because I'm not the same Detective Beckett!" she flared. "Don't you get that, Castle? I'm different now, I'm—" she choked a little, "damaged goods."

"We're all damaged goods in some way," he retorted. "None of us are in perfect factory condition, unless we were born yesterday. We've all got nicks and scars because we're adults and that's what life does. We've all got emotional baggage. We saw that just weeks ago, with Ryan and how he was haunted with guilt over his gun being used to kill Jane Herzfeld."

"It's not the same."

"Not exactly but it's not that different either. The point, Beckett, is that you can't just give up. You _don't_ just give up." His tone softened a little. "Do you remember what I told you once, about what makes you extraordinary? It's because you don't give up."

She did remember his words, from more than two years ago. _Most people come up against a wall, they give up. Not you. You don't let go. You don't back down. That's what makes you extraordinary._ Her breath caught in her throat. Even so long ago, back when he had still mostly been acting like a jackass, he'd thought she was extraordinary. It was one of the first things he'd said to her that made her realize that he wasn't thinking of her as just a conquest, someone he wanted to get into bed and little else. Made her realize that he really respected her.

"I remember," she managed in a whisper. "Of course I remember."

"That's still true, you know. If anything, it's even more true now. You say that you're broken but Beckett, that's not the end of the story. You take what would be a weakness and turn it into a strength. It's what you do, Beckett, the way you used what happened to your mom and let it drive you, fuel your compassion and your tenacity." His voice gentled at the mention of her mom and she sucked in her breath, lifting her eyes to look at him. No one—or almost no one who knew her would mention what happened to her mom so directly and from almost anyone else, she would have lashed out—but this was Castle. And Castle knew what her mom's case had done to her, Castle understood and he wouldn't mention her mom lightly.

Take the weakness of her shooting and turn it into a strength—could she do that? How could she do that? She didn't know how to take what had happened to her and make it helpful to her in this case but the gears of her mind were starting to creak into action, wondering, considering.

"It might have broken anyone else but not you; you used it to become the best cop in the city. You're still the best cop in the city." He shifted, his arms falling from around her to grip her arms lightly, bracingly. No longer holding her up but only giving her encouragement. "And this sniper might be good but he's just another killer, like any of the hundreds of other killers you've brought down. He might have some more training than the average Joe but he's not a criminal mastermind, not some super-villain. You know how we know?"

"How?" she asked, a flicker of curiosity breaking through.

"Because Emily Reese is alive," he answered succinctly.

That was true, she realized slowly. She hadn't thought of it, had been too preoccupied with Emily Reese's familiar terror, the panic in the woman's voice, all the memories it had brought up.

But Emily Reese was alive—had been conscious and able to talk. Which Kate had not been. They already knew that this sniper was shooting to kill. But he had failed this time.

"He made a mistake," she spoke her thought aloud, slowly.

"Exactly. And we know when criminals make mistakes—"

"It makes it easier to catch them," she supplied, meeting his eyes, and something about the simple act of completing his sentence made her feel more like her old Detective Beckett self than she'd felt since this whole nightmare had begun.

She saw the spark kindle in his eyes, the familiar light from when clues started to fall into place.

"My money's on you, Beckett. You can do this and you've got a pretty great team backing you up, if I do say so myself," he added.

Amazingly, she felt a smile curve her lips, an honest spurt of amusement easing some of the tension in her chest. "Yeah, Espo and Ryan are some of the best cops around," she agreed with mock solemnity. Oh, this man, always making her laugh, brightening her mood. Making her stronger.

He pasted on a pout. "And what about your partner?"

"Mm, he's okay, I guess," she drawled with the air of someone making a great concession.

"Okay," he pretended to grumble. "I'll show you okay and after I figured out what those paper dolls meant too."

She huffed something approaching a laugh and stepped into him, wrapping her arms around his waist again, but this time, she turned her face up to give him a small smile. "I have it on good authority that I have the perfect partner. He just doesn't like to do paperwork."

His lips curved. "Yeah? That's nice but I think my partner's better." He paused. "She does do paperwork," he deadpanned.

A laugh sputtered out of her and he dropped a light kiss on her cheek. "Come on, Beckett, back to work," he said briskly.

She gave his waist a last squeeze before releasing him, bending to retrieve her things, before they turned to leave the stairwell together, back into the bustle of the lobby.

"Castle?" She didn't know what she would have done without him, how she would have handled things, but she could only guess that it would not have been good, to put it mildly. She supposed she would have, somehow, papered over the cracks, survived the case, but she almost shuddered at the thought of how hard it would have been, how bleak her days and nights would be.

"Hmm?"

 _I love you._ For the first time, the words rose to her throat and she thought she could actually say them to him now. But this wasn't the time or the place. Not with CSU swarming all over the area, not in the middle of the case. No, when she said these words to him for the first time, she wanted to be alone, preferably in the privacy of his bedroom or hers. "I—I'll make you coffee when we get back to the precinct," she offered, lamely. It was all she could think of, stupidly, but coffee was theirs.

A faint smile curved his lips and she thought, hoped, he understood at least some of what she meant. "That sounds nice. Thank you."

* * *

She was so tired.

Kate's feet felt heavier than usual as she made her way down the hall to the door to the loft, knocking briefly. The emotional exigencies of dealing with Lee Travis had been bad enough but then she'd managed to squeeze in a session with Dr. Burke to talk it over and those were always draining. So now, she was just exhausted. She had returned to her own apartment briefly because she'd needed to pick something up—following her own resolution and Dr. Burke's advice to keep letting Castle help her—and had been tempted to simply stay there, crawling into her own bed. Except she'd promised Castle when she'd sent him home from the precinct that she'd come to the loft after her appointment with Dr. Burke. And more than that, her own bed wasn't what she wanted—at least, not when it was empty. It still surprised her a little but even after just a few weeks, she didn't sleep that well when she was alone anymore, always seemed to orient herself to where Castle's warm body should be and then be awoken by the consciousness of his absence. No, what she really wanted—needed—was to be able to curl up against his chest and fall asleep in his—their—bed.

"Oh, Katherine, darling," Martha greeted her, immediately pulling Kate into a hug and for just a moment, Kate let her eyes close and sank into it. A mother's embrace. Martha was nothing like her own mom had been for the most part but she was, at base, a mother too and right now, that was comforting.

Martha drew back to study Kate, who manufactured a small reassuring smile although she was aware that the evidence of the tears she'd shed in Dr. Burke's office was still apparent, mostly because of the fact that she knew her makeup was almost entirely gone and her mascara was smudged beyond repair. "How are you doing, kiddo?"

At that, Kate's smile became real. She would never have imagined liking to be called something as childish as 'kiddo,' but somehow from Martha, she rather did. It was such a familial endearment, yet another way in which Martha had made it clear that she welcomed Kate into the family whole-heartedly. "I'm doing better now," she answered honestly. "Glad the case is over."

"Oh, I can imagine. It must be such a relief," Martha agreed.

Martha released Kate but before Kate could so much as blink, she found herself abruptly being hugged again by another red-head as Alexis took Martha's place. Oh. It was the first time Alexis had hugged Kate in, possibly, ever? She couldn't remember. She supposed she didn't need to worry so much now over whether Alexis accepted her as part of Castle's life, Kate thought rather vaguely as she returned the girl's hug.

"Are you okay, Kate?" The girl's blue eyes were filled with concern. And the use of Kate's first name was yet another sign that she and Alexis were on good terms again. It was nice, reassuring. Alexis might never have said an untoward word but Kate knew that if any part of Alexis were not happy about Kate's being in a relationship with Castle, then it would rapidly complicate their relationship.

Kate smiled at the girl. "Yeah, I really am—"

Her words broke off as Castle hurried into the front room, alerted by the sound of their voices, his eyes immediately finding Kate's.

"Kate. You're here."

It took some effort but Kate tore her eyes away from Castle to focus on Alexis again. "I'm really fine, Alexis," she assured, conscious of Castle's eyes on her.

Alexis gave her a small smile. "Good. I'm glad. I know Dad's been worried too."

"Thanks, Alexis," Castle interjected wryly.

Alexis threw her father a cheeky smile. "I'm sure Kate already knew that."

Kate's smile was real this time as she exchanged glances with Alexis. "I did. He's not that subtle," she added in a loud whisper.

Alexis laughed. "He's really not."

Castle huffed but then he was there, tugging Kate into his arms, and she went willingly, forgetting all about teasing him in favor of stepping into the safe haven of his arms.

"Well, I think we'll just leave you two lovebirds to it," Martha declared, breaking the silence, and Kate started a little to see Martha grasping Alexis's arm and pulling her away towards the stairs. "We're glad you're here, Katherine, so Richard will stop moping. Upstairs if you need us. Good night." With that, Martha had tugged Alexis up the stairs and vanished.

Leaving Kate flushing and Castle grimacing. "Obviously, my mother is a master of subtlety and tact," he said ironically.

Kate laughed in spite of herself. "Martha's a dear."

"At least one of us likes her," he muttered.

Kate nudged Castle. "Be nice, Castle."

"I haven't kicked her out yet, have I?"

The joke was characteristic but for once, the attempt at lightness seemed forced and, she realized with a flicker of apprehension, that his humor wasn't reaching his eyes.

She sobered. "Castle, is something wrong?"

He blinked, his expression blanking for a moment in a way that somehow made her feel more nervous than even a scowl would have. "I—uh—we need to talk." He darted a quick glance upstairs, although Kate doubted either Martha or Alexis could hear them. "Let's go into my office."

Oh god. The words 'we need to talk' never served as the harbinger of anything good. She felt a stab of fear that she tried to tamp down. He wasn't—couldn't be—breaking up with her, she told herself. He loved her, still, even after knowing how much of a mess she was. And as long as they weren't about to break up, she could handle whatever this new complication was. She could handle anything as long as they were still together, so how bad could it be?

She followed him into his office and forced herself to sit down, in spite of the roweling agitation that made her want to pace. He loved her and she loved him so whatever this was, they could deal with it. Really.

He perched on the edge of his desk, then stood, paced a few steps, and then resumed his perch on the end of his desk, although she could tell he wasn't at all relaxed, tension visible in every line of his body.

She felt cold spreading inside her. She hadn't seen Castle this visibly nervous in, well, ever. And if Castle, the incorrigible optimist, was nervous…

"I… uh… have to tell you something," he began, not quite steadily and with his eyes fixed somewhere above her head but not meeting hers. "Because I don't want to have any secrets from you and… from what you said the other day about how we haven't caught the guy who… hurt you…" She didn't miss his slight hitch of breath, the way he did not—could not?—say outright that she'd been shot. She tried not to flinch.

"I just… I know that's still haunting you and I… don't want to keep this from you and you deserve to know…"

He was stalling now, with this halting explanation. She curled in on herself protectively, bracing herself for the anticipated blow. This was his 'it's about your mother' tone.

"It has to do with Montgomery."

She jolted, feeling the sharp stab of grief and hurt at the mention of her former Captain. She hadn't thought, hadn't expected to hear his name. Oh god, she couldn't help but think about the last time she'd heard a revelation involving Montgomery, the betrayal of learning about her mentor's connection to her mother's murder.

He paused, hesitated, but if he was expecting a response, he wasn't going to get one. She didn't think she could speak through the lump in her throat, even if she had words to say.

"Before he… went to the hangar that night, he… sent a package to a man, a friend of his. This package had information on the man who's behind all this. Montgomery sent it to his friend to… protect you—"

A harsh, skeptical sound erupted from her throat of its own volition. "Yeah, that didn't work. I was still shot."

He flinched and finally, looked at her. "The man—he said his name was Smith—didn't get the package until after… that happened to you. He used the information Montgomery sent him to make a deal with the man behind all this, to protect you."

"Are you—" she choked, swallowed, and managed to croak, "a part of this? Working with—" She felt as if her chest was collapsing in on itself, as if it no longer provided enough space for her lungs to function.

"No!" he burst out, interrupting her.

"Then how do you know—"

"Smith called me," he rushed ahead. "He told me… told me I had to stop you from looking into this, to keep you safe. Told me if you started to dig into this, he couldn't—the deal wouldn't work. I was—I just wanted to keep you safe."

She choked again. "Keep me safe? By cutting a deal for my life and then lying to me about it? I—what else is there? What more do you know about all this, the man who killed my mother, and are hiding because you don't trust me to make my own decisions?" she demanded, again finding refuge from heart-crushing hurt in anger.

"Nothing!" he blurted out. "Nothing, I swear. I just… I tried to trace the call from Smith but it was a burner phone, a dead end. I don't know anything more, that's all."

She believed him. The thought broke through her anger to an extent. His wide-eyed panic, the beseeching look in his eyes, told her enough. He was in no state of mind to be watching his words or concealing anything more.

"And I _do_ trust you. I just… I wanted to protect you, do what I failed to do in the cemetery, and I wasn't sure if you were ready—"

"You don't get to decide that!" The volume of her voice, a near-yell, startled even her and she forcibly modulated her tone, made it an angry hiss. "You should have told me the truth, not made this decision behind my back and then kept it from me! This was _my_ life, my _mom's_ case, and you don't get to decide! You should have told me—"

It was his turn to make a skeptical sound. "Because asking you to stand down and stop looking into your mom's case worked so well the last time?" he retorted sharply, abruptly straightening.

The push-back startled her but even as she felt automatic, instinctive defiance flare up, the reminder of that terrible argument in her apartment made her freeze. When he'd tried to make her stop chasing this and she hadn't—and had gotten shot.

Think about the people who love you, he had told her—challenged her. The people who loved her—which included him. He had loved her then.

Somehow, surprisingly—or not—the thought extinguished her anger. He loved her, had tried to save her—and she had… lied to him, sent him away. Hurt him.

Oh _damn_.

She wanted to be angry, still didn't like what he'd done, that he'd hidden this from her. But if he had done the wrong thing—lying to her—he had done it for the right reasons. He'd been trying to protect her. And now, belatedly, what he'd said, revealed, returned to her—he'd wanted to do what he'd failed to do in the cemetery. When he'd _tried to take a bullet for her._

She slumped, the fight leaving her.

"I just wanted to keep you safe," he repeated, his voice quieter now. "I can't—" his voice cracked ever so slightly. "I can't lose you again."

The pent-up fear in his voice, the sentiment, had her choking on a strangled sob. She didn't want to lose him either. She blinked through the tears that were threatening to blind her to see that he had stood up and was holding out a hand.

The gesture undid her entirely. She flew at him, burying her face in his shoulder as his arms closed around her. And somehow, just feeling his arms around her made her lungs seem to remember how to function properly, her chest no longer collapsing so she could take a full breath again.

She honestly wasn't sure how long it was that they simply held each other but she felt no inclination to move and he didn't seem eager to let her go either so they stayed, letting the warmth of their embrace knit up the wounds they had each inflicted on the other.

"I'm sorry," he finally murmured.

"I'm sorry too."

"Are we… okay?"

She lifted her face to look at him. "We're okay," she confirmed. And for once, even she, the one who was usually so quick to doubt, was sure of that. They might still fight, might hurt each other, but they also always ended up gravitating together. Because somehow, in spite of everything (or maybe because of everything), it seemed this was where they were supposed to end up—together.

He let out a breath and she felt the tension dissolve in his muscles.

And now that she was calmer, safely tucked against him, she had to admit—grudgingly—that he might have been right that she wasn't ready. Maybe never would be fully ready. This last case had shown her just how haunted she still was and she did know what her mom's case tended to do to her. It was like her own personal black hole with its own gravitational pull, sucking her in inexorably.

"But Castle?"

"Yeah?"

"If I can't look into my mom's case again, then neither can you. No more digging behind my back."

He met her eyes. "Deal. If we ever look into it again, it'll be together."

They should always deal with things together, she decided. If she needed to be better about that, letting him in, then he needed to do the same. "Deal," she agreed quietly, resting her head against his shoulder again.

She sagged against him, allowing someone else—him, only ever him—to hold her up when she felt as if she couldn't quite stand on her own. On this side of yet another cataclysmic conversation—fight?—if she hadn't been exhausted before, she certainly was now. She felt as if she could happily sleep for a week.

After a moment, he nudged her and then gently shepherded her to rearrange their positions until he was sitting down with her settled on his lap, his arms curled around her, cosseting her. It was the sort of position she wouldn't normally allow, let alone enjoy, but as with most things, with Castle, it was a different thing. For now, at least, she was quite content to sit on his lap and nestle against the broad width of his chest.

The day—the last few days—had been too much. Really, she thought rather petulantly, couldn't the universe give them a break for a little while, just let them enjoy being together?

But even as she thought it, as if on cue, she heard his voice in her mind from just that morning. _We're still here, still together, and stronger than ever._

And after all, that was true. Their relationship had survived her lie about her shooting, her lingering trauma, and now this, her mom's case—any and all of which could have broken them except that it hadn't. They had talked about it and survived. This talking thing might be—was—excruciatingly hard but she couldn't argue with the results.

"Kate?"

"Hmm?"

"How did your therapy session go?"

Oh, that. Oddly, amazingly, she had nearly forgotten about it in all that had happened since. "Fine." She paused. "At least, I suppose, as well as can be expected. It's not exactly meant to be fun," she added quickly, not wanting to sound evasive.

It was true enough. Dr. Burke had been pleased, in his own almost entirely expressionless way, that she had been able to let Castle help her. He had only warned her to be mindful that the recovery process from a trauma like hers was not a linear path, that there were going to be days that were harder than the others, that she could expect to feel sometimes as if she were taking one step forward, two steps back, but that at least, the first step, which she'd already taken of being honest with Castle, was the hardest.

"He said it was good that I… let you help me."

"Eventually," Castle added as an aside but there was no bite to it, was almost but not quite teasing.

She nudged him. "Better late than never."

"True. And it was worth the wait."

A faint smile curved her lips. "You like seeing me fall apart that much?" she teased.

"Well, I'd prefer to make you _fall apart_ for different, more fun reasons," he returned, his leer making his meaning clear and she huffed a laugh. Incorrigible man.

He sobered. "But really, Kate, I just don't want you to feel like you need to hide from me. You don't have to be alone. I _want_ to be there for you, your partner, in good times and bad."

"I know," she agreed softly. "And I'm trying to be better. I know I'm not good at letting people in and I'm not used to letting people help me but I am trying to be better about it." She forced herself to straighten up, pushing herself to her feet but softening the gesture by bending to brush a kiss against Castle's cheek. "Wait just a sec. I have something for you."

She returned to the front room of the loft to retrieve the duffel bag she'd brought with her and then resumed her seat on his lap, her hand closed around what she'd stowed in one of the pockets.

He resettled his arm around her and she let herself lean against his chest again as she opened her hand to display the key she was holding.

He blinked at it. "Beckett, did you buy me a car?" he tried to joke. "You remember I already have a Ferrari, right?"

The words were characteristic but the look in his eyes told her he wasn't taking this as a laughing matter.

"It's a key to my apartment," she clarified, trying and failing to smile. She felt her heart rate speeding up. This wasn't something she did and certainly not so soon in a relationship. She'd never even thought about giving Josh a key to her apartment. And with Will, she had reluctantly given him a key to her apartment, but only because he had first given her one to his and she'd realized that it would be too awkward not to reciprocate. And that had been after they'd been together for months.

"If I try to hide from you again, I want you to be able to come after me the way you did this morning."

He closed his hand around the key. "I'll always go after you," he promised quietly, "now that I know you want me around."

"I always wanted you around. I was just too stubborn to admit it," she mumbled into his shirt.

And was rewarded for the admission by a kiss, as he swept his other hand up her back to cup the back of her neck, angling her head to allow his lips and his tongue—ooh, yes, his tongue—to take possession of her mouth in a slow, leisurely, thorough kiss that effectively cleared her brain of all thought.

Afterwards, she tucked her head against his shoulder in a position that allowed her to brush her lips against his chin and his jaw with very little effort and would allow her to touch her lips to his if he turned his head in the right direction.

He didn't. Instead, he started to talk.

"Beckett, I was thinking," he began, sounding pleasingly breathless, even if she rather thought she'd prefer his mouth be occupied with other things, like, say, kissing. "We've been busy lately, haven't had much time to just _be_..."

"'The world is too much with us, late and soon,'" she murmured.

That got him to turn his head properly and kiss her, briefly. "You are so hot." If this was the way he reacted when she quoted poetry to him, she needed to memorize more poetry.

"Anyway, I was thinking, Thanksgiving is coming up soon and I don't know what you usually do for Thanksgiving but what do you think about going out to the Hamptons for the holiday weekend? It's off-season so it'll be quiet there and it'll allow us to get out of the city for a couple days, take a little break."

"What about Alexis and Martha?"

"Alexis will probably come with us and with my mother, we can ask and see. You could invite your dad too. There's plenty of room at the house."

"Don't you mean mansion?"

"I wouldn't call it a mansion per se."

"No, would you call it a castle then?" It was quite possibly the dumbest joke she'd ever made but she bit her lip on the smile that threatened to escape at his anticipated reaction.

As she'd predicted, he did react with characteristic histrionics, giving a loud, fake gasp and turning a look of overblown dismay on her. "Katherine Beckett, that is terrible. You should be ashamed of yourself."

She smirked. "No lamer than some of your jokes," she teased.

He huffed in mock offense. "That is so not true, Detective."

"Uh uh, it is so true." (She couldn't believe she was sounding so juvenile but decided to blame it on him. Clearly, he brought it out in her.)

"Is not."

"Are you a five-year-old now?"

"I am all man, Beckett, and I'm happy to prove it to you."

 _Yes, please._ She bit her lip on the immediate and too-eager response. No need to feed his ego—and it was too early to go to bed yet, she reminded herself. "Maybe later," she made herself drawl.

"I'm going to hold you to that."

She didn't doubt that.

"I'll ask my dad about Thanksgiving," she added after a moment. "It would be nice to get away." It really would. And even with Alexis and Martha—and her dad—present, she had no doubt that the house would be large enough to accommodate them all and still give her and Castle some time to themselves.

He looked delighted. "So that's a yes on going out to the Hamptons?"

She couldn't help her smile, the sight of him looking so happy making her heart melt like butter on a hot stove. "It's a yes."

He gave her a quick smacking kiss. "Thank you, Beckett. We are going to have a great time. The kitchen's big so it'll be easy to make a full-on Thanksgiving feast. And it might be too cold to swim but we can still take walks on the beach and the views of the sunsets are amazing and I think you'll really like our master suite and—"

He really was adorable and he was thanking her as if she had done him a favor by agreeing to his invitation and he'd so easily referred to the master suite as being theirs and she just… loved him.

Wait. He'd broken off, his entire body going stiff, his lips parted as he stared at her, surprise and joy dawning in his eyes.

"Kate…" he breathed.

Oh. Had she said that out loud?

She _had_ , those three words just spilling out of her mouth. Oh. That hadn't exactly been how she'd planned to tell him.

But then he was kissing her, his lips and tongue working over hers as if her kiss was all he needed to survive and her head spun and she forgot everything else in favor of kissing him. And really, what did anything else matter? She was in his arms, kissing him, so at that moment, all was right in her world.

 _~The End~_

A/N 2: I hope this satisfied! Thank you, as always, to everyone for reading and reviewing, especially the guest reviewers I can't thank directly.


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